Make It Home
by DeepBlueSomewhere
Summary: Jim's been getting headaches, Bones insists that you can't really bury the past, and Spock catches a glimpse of something he wasn't meant to see.  Kirk, Spock, McCoy friendship      -COMPLETE-
1. Going Downhill

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"Make it Home"

_by DeepBlueSomewhere_

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Summary: Jim's been getting headaches, Bones insists that you can't really bury the past, and Spock catches a glimpse of something he wasn't meant to see.

Author's Note: This is my first Star Trek fic, so feel free to point out any errors or inconsistencies. I'm not overly familiar with the universe, so they're bound to pop up. The rate of updates will correlate with reader response, so... hit that button!

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Chapter One: Going Downhill

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"Lights, twenty percent."

This phrase had become a morning ritual over the past week, though today it was more of a mumble. The computer still managed to pick up the familiar syllables (or had he just trained it by now?) and the lights faded on. James Kirk held a hand over his aching eyes, wondering when twenty percent had gotten so bright. He took a few deep breaths and slowly sat up. Two days ago, he'd learned that slow was the best way to go when he felt like this: then, he'd barely made it to the bathroom before losing his dinner.

He couldn't remember when the migraines had started. Years ago, certainly, but narrowing it down to specific time frame was difficult. He'd tried. When you sat in the Captain's Chair for eight hours, staring out into the blackness of space, sometimes there just wasn't a whole lot else to ponder.

Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true. There had to be two or three dozen reports backed up on his PADD waiting for him to sign, date, or approve something for someone. He didn't really want to admit that he'd been avoiding them because he could hardly see straight. Reading was definitely out of the question.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor as he willed his eyes to focus, Jim could almost convince himself that he felt better today. Aside from the bone deep ache in his skull and neck, he wasn't as nauseous or zoned out as he had been yesterday. Of course, he hadn't yet attempted to stand.

He'd been waking up a full half-hour earlier than usual over the past week just to make room for this agonizing schedule. Spend five minutes getting to the bathroom, ten fighting down nausea, and twenty trying to make himself look a little more alive. The old James Kirk woke up five minutes before his shift and still managed to bounce onto the bridge with a smile and a smart-ass remark. This Jim: the pale, dark-eyed, messy-haired man he met in the mirror each morning, was thankful to make it through his days without collapsing. Better yet, he'd managed to run damage control with Bones under the pretense of overworking. He was just tired, right? Spock watched him like a hawk, of course, but so long as he manged to keep his condition from interfering with his duties as Captain, the Vulcan wisely said nothing. And so far, Jim had manged pretty damn well.

Brush his teeth. Strip. Shower. Jim wandered through his morning chores without paying much attention. Of course, he managed to do most of it with his eyes closed, but things just worked better that way. After his shower he commanded the lights up to fifty percent, hoping he could work his way up to the too-bright corridors that awaited him outside. His plan wasn't working out very well.

Jim sluggishly pulled on a black undershirt and gold command shirt, but had to rethink his strategy when he realized he'd donned it backwards. Sighing, he pulled it off. He stared at it in his hands for a few moments, wondering where all of his energy had gone, before deciding he'd make attempt number two right before he left for his shift on the bridge. He still had some time.

Stumbling over to the replicator, he ordered a hearty portion of eggs, bacon and toast. When it arrived, he pulled it out and dumped it into the garbage compactor. Bones regularly checked the replicator log for his room (fallout from the last time Jim had gone a week without eating) and this was the easiest way to throw his best friend off his scent. The smell of the food made his stomach twist, but he managed to keep his composure. Maybe this day wouldn't be a complete disaster after all. He could do this.

This was day six of the migraine. He only had two or three more left, if luck was on his side. If nothing went wrong. He'd had them for weeks at a time in the past, but he hadn't been Captain of a Federation starship back then either. Things were good here. More business to think about here meant less time to think about the past. Nothing good waited for him there.

Sighing as his vid screen beeped to life, Jim shuffled over to his console, wondering if he had unknowingly jinxed himself with his own optimistic thoughts. He couldn't help flinching as the screen lit up, piercing his eyes like needles. He tried to focus.

"Commander Spock." He cleared his throat, trying to banish the scratchiness from his voice. "What can I do for you?"

Spock, thoughts on his sleeve, eyed what was likely an extremely unappealing image of his half-awake Captain critically for a moment.

"Are you well, Captain?"

Jim ground his teeth. "Fine. What's up, Spock?"

As hoped, Spock's interest was deflected to disapproval at Jim's overly casual way of addressing him. As expected, he didn't mention it. The disapproval was all in the eyebrows.

"We are receiving a transmission from an unknown ship. We have them on hold, as they wish to speak to the commanding officer. As it is only 14.7 minutes until your regular shift begins, I thought I should alert you in case you wished to attend to the matter yourself."

_I really, really don't._ Jim thought to himself, but he smiled at the screen. "Thank you for your consideration, Commander. I'll be up in no time."

"Actually, Captain, by my best estimations it will take you at least 2.8 minutes to reach the bridge from your—"

In what he would later come to admit was a childish gesture, Kirk abruptly ended the transmission. He didn't think he would last the day if he had to listen to any more of Spock's "estimations". As much as he had learned to respect the Vulcan in the eight months since he had assumed captaincy of the Enterprise, there were times when he wondered if they had been divinely ordained to know just how to get under one another's skin. Jim was brash, impulsive, and reckless by nature, choosing to mask his brilliant mind and fierce nature with arrogance. Spock was his polar opposite. Most days, Jim found this fact profoundly entertaining, and rarely missed a chance to heckle his Vulcan counterpart.

This wasn't most days.

To top things off, he had to hit the bridge early. Usually he wouldn't mind—Spock usually went up a full hour before his shift began to take reports for the day and occasionally, Jim joined him. But right now, Jim wanted nothing more than to turn right back around and hit his pillow for another twelve hours or so. Back in Iowa, he could usually manage to take the edge off his headaches by solitary confinement, sleep, and a completely dark room.

He was the Captain of a starship now, not a delinquent farm boy. Any chance of a reprieve from even the most serious of maladies was a distant daydream.

Steeling himself for the day ahead, Jim jerked his gold shirt back on (the right way this time) and snapped at the door to unlock. He kept his eyes closed as he stepped out into the hall, but it felt like the bright white light was searing right through his eyelids. Brutally determined, he forced his eyes open, hoping the hallway was still as straight as he remembered. With the way things were spinning, he just couldn't be sure. He managed to reach the turbolift without running into anything, or anyone, and he mashed a random button in hopes of gaining a moment or two to orient himself. His body was not happy that he had launched himself out of his dark cave so quickly, and the pounding in his skull was threatening to deafen him.

When the doors opened he found himself staring at Medbay, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his own dumb luck. Thankfully, no-one saw him as he closed the doors once more. This time he was sure to press the right button.

"Report, Commander." Was the first thing out of Jim's mouth as he stepped out onto the bridge. He really didn't feel like draining his plummeting energy levels by trying to exchange the normal morning pleasantries with his crew. Today, Spock was his best chance at keeping those pleasantries to a minimum.

"The unknown vessel hailed us approximately 8 minutes ago and has expressed their desire to speak with you personally. They bear no markings or indication of any alliance. I agreed to their terms only because they appear to be no threat, as you will see. However caution is advised, as we are aware of neither their identity nor their intentions."

"Noted." Jim ground out, taking a seat. His stomach was revolting, which really wasn't fair considering how long it had been since he'd eaten. He needed to focus right now, damnit. This was really no time to be acting weak. "Can I get a visual?"

"Yes ser." Chekov's fingers flew over his console, and within minutes the screen displayed a small, unmarked ship floating quietly in space.

"They appear to be damaged." Spock noted. "Perhaps they are incapacitated?"

Jim didn't bother responding. "Audio, Chekov."

"Ser."

A transmission frequency crackled to life and Jim leaned forward.

"This is Captain Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?"

There was a moment of static-filled silence as the crew held their breath in anticipation, curious as expected. This was the most eventful thing that had happened since they had left earth four weeks ago.

"Captain Kirk, this is Captain Mayes of the _Arabeth_." The line faded in and out as the voice carried back, and Kirk motioned for Chekov to improve the audio. The ensign made several adjustments but none of them seemed to help much.

"We are a prison transport ship from Maraka." The distorted voice went on. "We are transporting several extremely dangerous, high-priority felons from the prison colony to Earth. They made an escape attempt and the ship was damaged. We request assistance and transport either to Earth or back to Maraka."

"We would be more than willing to lend our assistance." Kirk nodded, going into Captain mode. He motioned for Spock, but the Vulcan was already a step ahead of him as he radioed for medical and transportation to stand by. "However, I must ask. Why were you unwilling to speak with my First Officer?"

Static reigned supreme for a moment—Kirk really hated that noise—before the line crackled back to life.

"Before the breakout on our bridge, we received word that several other ships in the area have also been hijacked. There seems to be some sort of concentrated escape effort. We needed to be sure of your identity."

"Fair enough." Jim nodded. "Are your prisoners secure now?"

"Yes sir. They've been restrained in the hold."

"Good. We'll be beaming aboard shortly. Stand by."

As soon as the transmission was cut short, the bridge burst into activity.

Sulu bounded to his Captain's side so fast it made Jim's head spin—of course, lots of things made his head spin lately. "Permission to accompany you, Captain?"

"Why the hell not." Jim gestured him forward, greeted by a beaming smile.

Spock raised a surprised eyebrow at Jim, but made no comment as they entered the lift. It might have been brash of Jim to take one of his men off their active shift so quickly, but he didn't have the energy to argue or discuss right now. His active tactic was to say yes to everything and to "hmph" to everything else. Feign participation, as it were.

At least this way he could try to lose himself in the confusion. It was already shaping up to be a long day.

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Please review! :)


	2. All Part of the Plan

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Chapter Two: All Part of the Plan

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Spock followed Jim down to the transporter pad, glued to his shoulder as his fingers moved rapidly over his PADD. Despite the sudden explosion of activity all over the ship as crew members jogged to their posts and officers shouted orders, no-one was too busy to stand at attention as their Captain passed. Usually Jim would have waved down what he saw as unnecessary protocol, but today he really didn't care as long as they all stayed out of his way. Because if they didn't... well, there was a good chance he might run into them.

"We ran the ship's registration, Captain." The Vulcan informed him, conveniently removing the necessity for Jim to ask any intelligent questions himself. "They do indeed appear to be licensed as a transport to the Marakan prison colonies."

Jim could have hugged his First Officer. He wondered if the Vulcan had any idea how much his captain needed his rational, logical thought processes right now. Jim's head was pounding like mad and his vision kept fading in and out. He kept his head down like he was concentrating on Spock's constant stream of information, but in all reality he was just trying not to trip or embarrass himself.

When they reached the transporter pad Jim nodded his thanks at the ensign that brought him a utility belt and phaser. Medical had already assembled nearby, prepped to received the wounded, but thankfully McCoy was not among them. Jim had kept up the act this far, even without his usual IV drip of coffee, but McCoy knew him too well. One look at Jim and the doctor would have his best friend hyposprayed and strapped to a biobed faster than he could blink. He'd let it slide all week, but today in particular Jim knew he looked like he'd lost a barfight with a Romulan.

Jim's mind wandered for a moment as it struck upon this particular chord. He was trying to remember if he'd ever actually _had _a barfight with a Romulan. He didn't think so. It took a hand on his shoulder to bring him back to the chaos of the transporter room. He jumped at the light touch, his mind flying back fifteen years before he had a chance to blink.

Spock frowned at him, and in a distinctly un-Vulcan gesture, lightly touched Jim's forehead. It was a strictly friendly gesture; the Vulcan thought he might be ill. But Jim wasn't expecting it, and nothing good ever came of surprising James Kirk.

"Whoa, there, buddy." Jim jumped back, suddenly a ball of nerves. "Aren't you even going to buy me dinner first?" The nervous joke fell tragically flat, and they both knew it, but Jim couldn't stand the puzzled and slightly worried look on his First Officer's face. He turned away, mortally embarrassed for reasons he wasn't completely sure of himself.

Desperate to avoid whatever was coming his way from Spock, Jim weaved into the crowd and began checking his team's gear, trying his best to look completely engrossed and definitely unapproachable.

"Jenkins, if you put that armor on backwards one more time, I'll have you suspended!" He snapped at a youthful crew member as he walked by.

Jenkins swallowed hard, eyes wide at this unusual outburst, and quickly fumbled for his armor.

Jim stalked away without a word, unsympathetic. He was sure he would regret that later, but there would always be time for apologies when this migraine decided he'd suffered enough. He had a feeling that with the way this day had started, things were only going to get worse. He needed to shoulder his way through all of today's wonderful messes and deal with the fallout tomorrow. Or the next day. Just... some other time.

"Medical is assembled." One of the male nurses quipped as Jim neared him. "Ready to go, sir."

Jim nodded. "Scotty?"

"Almost ready to go, cap'n." Scotty grinned (Jim had the irrational urge to punch him for his cheer). "Sixty seconds, tops."

"Team, assemble." Jim ordered, taking his place on the transporter pad. Picking up on the Captain's dark mood, the crew wasted no time in doing so.

Jim didn't meet Spock's eyes as the Vulcan fell into place beside him, but he could _feel_ his First Officer's attention on him, like a bad vibe.

Jim curled and uncurled his fists, slowly, tightly. Breathe in with the curl, out with the release. Slower. He could write a book on therapeutic calming techniques. Spock would die if he ever found _that_ out.

Taking his mind off the pain and frustration of the moment, Jim began to unwillingly go over the scenarios that might be playing out in Spock's mind. Would he alert McCoy? Was the game up? Was he going to be pulled off an active command shift in front of his entire crew because of a stupid headache? He would love to see himself live that one down. None of these "logical" thought processes, however, accounted for the look he had seen on his First Officer's face just minutes before. That expression had sent a chill down Jim's spine. Because it looked familiar.

It looked exactly like Bones had when Jim had told him everything. It had been one miserable birthday back at the academy. Jim was locked up in his quarters, drunk off his ass and depressed beyond comfort. Bones, worried sick at the lack of communication between them, had used a medical override to get into his room and shake him out of his stupor. McCoy had been almost ready to cry with relief when he found Jim alive and (relatively) well, but his relief had been short lived. Jim hadn't spent his birthday with another living soul since he was eight. Just the sight of his friend's worried face had brought out years of anger and pain. Hiccuping and sniffling like a little girl, Jim had told all. Sometimes he regretted it. And sometimes, knowing someone _knew _and didn't care... Well, there wasn't a lot he could think of that was more therapeutic than that. The next morning, when the full reality of his situation had sunk in to Jim's sober, though very hungover brain, he believed for the first time that Bones actually cared about him. Well. That and the fact that the Doctor was fast asleep and drooling in a chair by his bed. Ever the mother hen, Bones was even more protective of him after that.

Spock, however, was different. Spock was not Bones. Spock had attempted to kill Jim, however far in the past that was. Jim did not trust Spock. And as far as he was concerned, that wasn't changing anytime soon.

"All clear, Cap'n!" Scotty called to him, lifting an "ok" symbol over his head.

Jim nodded, and the familiar white light wrapped itself, spinning and singing, around his body. He closed his eyes in concentration (or to avoid getting dizzy: did it really matter?) and let the light take him.

When the humming stopped, Jim opened his eyes again, telling himself the building nausea in the back of his throat was just an aftereffect of the transporter. That had to be it.

The away team found themselves in a dark corridor aboard the Arabeth, lit sporadically by jumping sparks from the damaged pipes and wires that hung from the ceiling. The floor was a mess, scattered with debris and broken pieces of the ship that groaned around them like a wounded beast. There was more damage to the small vessel than had been apparent from the Enterprise. Jim distantly wondered how long the Arabeth would have lasted if the Enterprise had not happened upon them when it did.

"Those prisoners sure pulled a number on this place." Sulu whistled under his breath, poking at a fallen electrical panel with his phaser.

"Touch nothing." Spock cautioned, moving ahead with Jim. "We are unaware of the extent of the damage. It would be unwise to exacerbate the situation."

Any other time, Jim would have laughed at the confused and irritated expression on Sulu's face. He usually felt the same way about half the words that came out of Spock's mouth. Right now, gravity seemed hellbent on driving him straight into the ground and the thought of trying to arrange his facial muscles into an expression made his head pound. Pound harder, anyway.

Lifting a hand, he gestured his team forward, distantly wondering where the crew of the Arabeth was. Jim and his crew couldn't be far from the bridge. Markings on the corridors at eye level guided them in the right direction. They were nearing the short turbolift to the upper deck when Spock's radio crackled to life. He could hear Chekov's voice, but the transmission was warbled and broken. Much the same as the transmissions they had received minutes ago from the Arabeth. Perhaps part of the ship's defensive systems were blocking transmissions. It was a prison transport vessel, after all. It had to be secure.

They boarded the turbolift. One of the medics knelt to rummage in his large black bag.

"...report from Maraka-" Chekov's already difficult to understand voice crackled out. "...emergency signal..."

Spock frowned as he played with the dial on his radio. The signal did not clear, but everyone heard the last word snap into the still air like a whip.

"-trap!"

_Aw, crap._

The turbolift doors whooshed open.

Six prisoners with phasers drawn stood facing the turbolift doors. Jim's eyes flashed across the room to the line of kneeling, bound and gagged crew members. Two more prisoners stood behind them, phasers trained on the helpless crew.

_Crap crap crap. _

This day really wasn't going for him.

The sudden adrenaline rush, however, was. There were few things that could push physical pain to the back of his mind like realizing he had just stepped blindly into a very dangerous situation.

Jim pretended not to notice the restraining arm Spock moved in front of him. He stepped forward slowly, hands away from his weapons.

"Well, you got us." He smirked, holding up his hands. Nothing in his voice gave away the speed at which his mind was racing. He was a master at that. "Now who's in charge here?"

A prisoner standing at the control console turned slowly towards Jim. He looked anything but psychopathic, but something about the breadth of his shoulders silently warned Jim not to underestimate him. Like the other prisoners, his head was shaved, but the long, faded scar across his face made him stand him out.

The man stalked forward with the grace of a cat. Jim stiffened. This prisoner was different. He wasn't afraid. He seemed in perfect control, and that couldn't bode well for the crew of the Enterprise.

Scar-face paused less than a yard from Jim and surveyed him very critically for a very long moment. Jim lifted his chin a fraction, but gave the man no other ammunition.

When the prisoner finally did speak, it was to the man behind him and not to Jim. "Patch us through to the Enterprise." His voice was low, but cold. One of the other prisoners rushed to obey and soon Chekov's voice crackled over the dysfunctional line.

"Arabeth," Came the broken English. Jim could hear the strain in his Communications Officer's voice as he tried to maintain his calm. "What is your condition? The rescue team has beamed aboard and will reach you shortly."

"Yes, they're already here." Answered the leader calmly, smirking just slightly at Jim. "That's what I mean to to talk to you about."

There was silence as a response, and Jim could almost hear Chekov's hesitation.

Gesturing to a few of the other prisoners, the leader filled the silence by having weapons and communicators taken from Jim's crew.

"Leave it." He intervened when one of his men moved to take Jim's communicator. "Let him speak to his crew. Let's see what the brilliant Jim Kirk can come up with, shall we?" He seemed pleased at Jim's look of surprise. "Come, now, Captain. Even in this distant corner of the universe we've heard of you. Even in the darkest corners of the prison planets we hear your name. Did you really think you could traipse about the systems incognito while the stars sing your praise?"

"Who are you?" Jim demanded. He was dumbfounded by this man's apparent intelligence and education, and uncertainty was not going to help his situation at all. "Why don't you take my communicator?"

"It's simple, Captain Kirk." The man with the scar ignored his first question entirely, and that smug grin was really starting to piss Jim off. "I want your crew to know everything that's going on down here. I want them to hear from you as the hours pass and I break your spirit bit by bit."

He turned back to the blank screen and the open line where Chekov waited in horror. "As you have doubtless guessed, I want the Enterprise. The Arabeth is damaged beyond repair and can go no further, and of course I don't intend to go back to that planet. You can do your best to formulate some kind of rescue plan with your captain." He addressed the blank screen as though he alone could see the man who sat on the other side. "But know that eventually, you will hand over the Enterprise to me. If we detect any kind of rescue or escape attempt, we will execute your Captain and crew members. You will find that your transporters are ineffective now, so any effort to that end would be futile."

"You have one hour to make your decision." Scar-face turned away from the screen and faced the captive crew members. "After that, I will contact you again. If your decision is not the correct one, I will let my men do as they please to the crew members now in captivity." He smiled that sickly, sinister smile at Jim once more. "We'll start with your golden boy. Captain Kirk."

With the push of a button, he closed the line to the Enterprise.

Jim's heart sank.

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Wow, I am so sorry. It's been what, a month since the first chapter? Sheesh. I fail. Anyway. Thanks for the support! Honestly I was a little surprised at the response considering this is the first chapter of my first Star Trek story. If it makes you all feel any better, I did a little bit of work on this chapter every time I opened my e-mail and read your reviews (which wasn't often, but hey: it happened eventually). It's always super encouraging to hear from you, even if it's a short word or two.

No, this is not going to be a slash story. Sorry to disappoint, but it's not my cup 'o tea. Other than that, I'm not giving you any hints about what's coming. :) Just know there will be loads of angst and a healthy dose of fluffy moments.

Read on! (and review!)


	3. Losing Touch

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Chapter Three: Losing Touch

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Jim's adrenaline rush faded fast as he was herded through the dark corridors, trying his best to stay between his crew and the escaped convicts. As a result, the migraine he had so briefly managed to overcome had now culminated in a terrible knocking sound between his temples. He really hoped nobody was trying to speak to him. It wasn't going to work out well for either for them.

They were not taken far before they came to a large, high security door. Through this door lay a long, dimly lit corridor that had been effectively blocked at the far end by falling debris. Here they were left without further ado, the steel safety bolts sliding into place behind them.

Sulu and one of the bulkier medics gravitated immediately towards the debris and began formulating a plan for tunneling out. The other medics sat or stood near the still-intact inner wall, where a surging strip of emergency lighting offered the illusion of warmth. Jim knew most of his medical crew had never been in any form of combat situation and had to be deeply shaken by now. If he'd been in better shape, he would have attempted to personally rally them. As it was, he left that to Spock and the others.

Jim sequestered the corner nearest the door, still functioning under the idea that he needed to protect his crew at all costs. Leaning against the wall, he sank to the floor and sluggishly pulled out his communicator.

It had been six minutes since communications had ended between the Arabeth and the Enterprise. Every second counted.

Taking a minute to steady himself, Jim ran through every calm breathing technique in his book and found that few of them were really doing any good. His gut told him to sit still and close his eyes before he threw up all over himself or made some equally embarrassing scene.

As usual, current circumstances were not friendly towards such common sense tactics.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Spock approaching and in a childish attempt to avoid the coming conversation, he pulled out his communicator.

"Kirk to Enterprise." He began, taking a deep breath. "Come in, Enterprise."

The channel opened almost immediately.

"Kepten, this is Chekov. What is your condition?"

"We're intact. We've been sequestered in a hallway of some kind, locked in. We're safe for now."

"Glad to hear it, Kepten. I have assembled an emergency assault crew. We are unable to beam onto the Arabeth because of their jamming system, but Mr. Scott has been working on a bypass frequency."

_Good._ Jim thought with relief, _He's sticking to the book. _

"Listen to me, Chekov." Jim spoke seriously, "I need you to really listen."

"Yes ser."

"I don't care what happens to me, or to this crew, or to this ship. We may not have much time so it's important that you understand this: under no condition are you to surrender the Enterprise to these men. Am I understood?"

Dead silence.

"Chekov, answer me." Jim commanded, shutting his eyes tightly. He knew exactly what he was asking of his navigation officer. He knew exactly what would happen after this.

"Ser—" Chekov's choked answer came back, "How can I do what you ask? They vill hurt you."

The simple statement settled cold in the pit of Jim's stomach. "I know." He returned gravely. "And right now, they'll only hurt me. I can live with that, so long as I have your word you will keep my ship safe. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, ser." Chekov didn't sound at all like he could do that, but Jim knew he could trust him to follow orders.

"Good." Jim sighed, rubbing his aching head with one hand. "Good."

"Kepten, what _do_ you want us to do?" Chekov sounded deflated, and Jim knew that was his fault. "Shall we stage a rescue attempt, or contact Starfleet?"

"None of the above." Jim smiled as much as he could given the circumstances. "Stay steady, Chekov. We'll be out of this in no time." He hoped it was the smile, and not the lie, that carried through to the navigation officer.

There was a brief pause and a burst of noise on the other end of the line. "Kepten, the Doctor vishes to have a vord with you." Chekov sounded just slightly frazzled.

Jim grimaced, but conceded. This was not his hill to die on today. "Put him on." He sighed.

Almost before Chekov could say "yes ser" the Doctor's voice cut across the line.

"Jim?" The sheer relief and worry overflowing from the Doctor's voice was enough to make Jim crack a smile in spite of the situation. He distantly noted how distinct the Doctor's southern accent became when he was stressed.

"Settle down there, Bones." Jim tried to joke. "Wouldn't want the crew to get the wrong idea about us, you know what I'm saying?"

The Doctor must have been more panicked than usual, because he didn't even attempt to respond to Jim's flat humor. "What's going on? Where are you? Are you hurt? Of course you're hurt, you're always—"

"McCoy." Jim interrupted, silencing the Doctor at once with the use of his last name. "Clam down. I need you to stay calm." Jim's head was pounding and he could barely make sense of his friend's voice right now, let alone decipher his psychobabble.

Bones was quite for a very long, uncomfortable moment. "Jim." He returned at last, his voice deadly serious. "We're on a private line now. What's wrong?"

"Nothing at all. But I _am_ trapped on a stranded ship with an army of homicidal escapees. But nothing other than that." Jim couldn't even put the smile into his words this time. He was too tired. He just wanted to rest for a moment… just one moment.

"You know what I mean."

"Little tired, Bones." Jim hoped the words didn't come across as slurred as they sounded in his ears.

No such luck. Bones was an open book to Jim, and he read the understanding in his voice.

"Put Spock on. Now."

Jim smiled a little at the thought of his pathetically transparent façade getting so easily destroyed by one word from his logical Vulcan first mate. "No can do." He quipped. He was very thankful the rest of his crew could not hear much of this particular conversation.

"Jim!" Bones was getting angry. "This is no time for childish theatrics! I need you to talk to me."

"Bones," Jim sighed, "there's nothing you can do, you know."

Bones swore under his breath, but was not ready to give up just yet. "Tell me how you feel Jim, right now."

Jim's head drooped as he shielded his eyes from the occasional furtive glances his captive crew members were shooting his way. He didn't have the energy for the usual runaround with his friend. Some nagging part of his brain was begging him incessantly to just close his eyes and _sleep _for a few minutes, and then everything would make sense.

"Head hurts." He mumbled. As a distraction he added "'m really tired, too."

"What do you mean your head hurts?" Bones zeroed in quickly. "Did you get whacked in the head, or do you have a migraine?"

Jim flinched inwardly. Damn Bones.

"I don't know—" he hedged unsuccessfully.

"Don't tell me you don't know the difference." Bones interjected. "We've been through this a dozen times, Jim. If you want me to stop hassling you about this then you have to grow a pair and start _talking_ to me."

"Yes, mom."

"Shut up, Jim. Can you shut up for just once? This is no time for joking around." Bones was getting really irritated now. "Tell me your symptoms. Be specific."

"It's probably a migraine." Jim admitted for the sake of skipping the usual banter. "Now's not the time for your medical nagging either. I have a crew in danger here, and possibly a lot more."

"Jim, you can't function like this." Bones muttered. "We've been through all of this before. Remember?"

It was Jim's turn to get sharp. "Of course I remember. But there's not a whole lot we can do about this right now."

Silence reigned supreme, and Jim could almost hear his friend seething quietly on the other end of the static line.

"Bones, please." Jim lowered his voice. "Just let me take care of this. Don't get hung up on the details right now. I really need that from you."

"This isn't a detail." Bones sounded angry. "Not to me, and not to your crew. Not even to your first officer, believe it or not. Your safety has never been a detail to anyone but _you._"

It was Jim's turn for silence.

"Try to stay still, get some rest if you can." Bones voice hinted that this was far from over. "And give the communicator to Spock."

"Bones—"

"Do it now."

Well. Who argued with a tone like that? Not James Kirk.

Jim sighed and glanced up. Spock watched him like a hawk from where he stood just across the small hallway. He gestured him over.

Cat-like, exuding a grace Jim could only ever hope to possess, the Vulcan strode forward and seated himself next to Jim. Jim wordlessly handed him the communicator, and eavesdropped shamelessly on the conversation.

"Doctor McCoy, this is Commander Spock." Spock intoned.

"Commander." Bones returned gruffly. "I need you to keep that moron captain of yours seated firmly on his ass and out of harms way."

"I will perform to the best of my abilities," Spock frowned slightly, "But I am unsure of the plausibility of your request. Our captors already expressed their intentions to—"

"Okay!" Jim snatched the communicator out of Spock's hand. "It was great talking to you Bones, now we gotta go."

"Jim!" Bones snapped.

Jim ended the connection.

Spock was staring at him.

"For all your brains you can be really thick headed sometimes…" Jim murmured, suddenly completely drained. The room was spinning. Why was it spinning? He'd been sitting down for the entire call for God's sake, and he didn't really think this was fair.

"Captain, may I inquire as to specifically what ails you?" Spock addressed him in a tone that by no means implied a request. "I can reconnect to the Enterprise if you do not wish to divulge your condition to me, as I am sure the Doctor will share no such reservations—"

"I've got a little headache, alright?" Jim snapped. "Jesus, it's not the end of the world. Lay off already, would you?"

His tone had been unnecessary and Jim knew it, but he couldn't really think straight right now. He could apologize later. In fact, he could add it to his long list of apologies to make later.

As usual, his irrational human anger had little effect on the stoic Vulcan. Whether that was a blessing or a curse right now, Jim couldn't be sure.

"Captain." The Vulcan spoke calmly, almost too calmly—as though he were speaking to a small child or a frightened animal. "I could not help but become aware of your discomfort over the past several days, and I feel the Doctor's concern is not unfounded. Although the conditions are hardly suitable for medical care, I would urge caution. You are our leader and it is paramount that you remain intact and capable of leadership."

Jim wanted to laugh at that, that thing Spock did—agreeing with everyone at once, saying everything at once. Jim wasn't even sure what he'd said, come to think of it. Did Vulcans ramble? Was that their secret?

He didn't realize he'd blacked out until he opened his eyes and found Spock crouching in front of him, face too close to his own for comfort and cool hand on his forehead.

There was this odd thing that Jim's mind and body did whenever he was touched unexpectedly. It was something so deeply imbedded in his subconscious that it was completely out of his control. It always started with a white flashing across his vision and a ringing in his ears, and usually ended with someone getting hurt. In the blank, flashing, ringing space inbetween these moments he was bombarded with a long string of images and memories that usually only came out to play in the worst of his nightmares.

But seasoned, decorated starship Captains never had nightmares, right?

"Captain!" Spock's commanding tone cut through that strange haze of memory and sensory overload and Jim realized he was pinned.

His first reaction was panic, fight, _flight,_ but the Starfleet officer that still cowered somewhere within him knew that he couldn't embarrass himself in front of the crew. The crew, the crew, the crew. If he could focus on them, he could win this.

"Captain, please calm yourself." Spock's voice was low and discreet, which somehow did very little to calm Jim down.

"Let go." Jim warned, throat choked. If Spock didn't let go of him now, he couldn't be held responsible for what happened. "Let _go._"

Spock did so cautiously, peering carefully into Jim's face.

Jim breathed. Once. Again. Clarity returned. Thank god the crew seemed preoccupied with finding a way out at the far end of the corridor. He hoped no-one had noticed what had just happened.

Spock sat back on his heels, still staring with uncomfortable intensity into Jim's face.

"Sorry." Jim mumbled, trying to brush off the lingering effects of… whatever that had been. "Must have a fever or something."

Spock stared.

"I'm not really myself right now." Jim admitted shakily, trying in vain to salvage his pride and dignity. "I just need you to give me a little room."

"Understood, Captain." Spock's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Is there anything I can do to ease your discomfort or aid in preparing for our escape?"

"There's nothing you can do right now." Jim swallowed, thankful for Spock's understanding, but unsure of how to communicate that. "I'll take care of this."

"We have a large amount of medical supplies with us," Spock tried again, "I could procure some pain reliever for you."

Jim shook his head. "I don't know what's coming from our trigger-happy friends out there. If those bastards try any kind of serum or chemical on me, it might react badly to anything in my system. Can't risk it. I'm allergic to most everything, anyway."

Spock's silence steeled Jim's resolve. He knew exactly what he was in for. He just hoped he could be ready for it.

"Why don't you, uh… check on the progress of the crew." Jim grasped for a reason to get Spock to leave. It was the last thing Jim wanted right now, but he couldn't handle that knowing, almost sympathetic look. It was too uncomfortable. Jim desperately need a moment to himself, to cower in his uncertainty and embarrassment and try to strengthen his failing mind and body.

Nodding, Spock stood and turned as if to leave.

"Jim." The single word made Jim look up blearily. Turning his head just slightly, Spock spoke softly without meeting his eyes. "You need not suffer alone."

"Funny how everyone who's ever said that has been walking away from me." Jim chuckled mirthlessly. He almost regretted it, but he just couldn't filter his cynicism anymore. He was down to a shell.

Spock was silent, and after a long pause, he left Jim's side and walked down the corridor towards the rest of the crew.

Jim let the air out of his lungs in a long, heavy breath, and slid to his side to lie on the cold metal deck. He had forty-two minutes left.

His eyes fluttered closed.

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Author's Note: Oh my goodness, guys, I'm sorry. When I started this story, I thought I was going to update every week, ifI could manage to wait that long to post the next chapter! Now it's been what, a month? Again? I started a new full time job last week, took a two week trip back home to California, and have somehow been keeping my head above water with homework this month. You never know what life is going to throw at you, eh? Anyway, I appreciate you continued support and reviews; I still fully intend to finish this story and I hope you will stick around til the end. In the meantime, drop me a review; tell me about yourself! I want to meet you. :) You're the reason I keep writing, after all!


	4. Falls Apart

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Chapter Four: Falls Apart

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_The door creaked as he eased it open, and Jim winced. He shifted his messenger bag to his other shoulder, one arm curled protectively around his cracked and aching ribs._

_"Sneaking in? That's mature of you."_

_Jim ground his teeth and turned to face the hulking man that was his stepfather._

_"I just didn't want to wake you up." Jim lied, trying to sound respectful._

_"Wake me up? It's the middle of the day." Frank walked slowly towards him, a half-empty bottle of beer in one hand. From his speech and movements, Jim knew he wasn't drunk yet._

_"What are you hiding?" Frank was relentless, and grabbing Jim's chin, he forced the boy to look at him._

_Jim was unable to resist, and he flinched inwardly as the full array of blood and bruises that covered his face was revealed. He was in for it now._

_Frank sighed heavily, but he didn't sound sorry. "Fighting again." It was a statement loaded with condescension. _

_Jim locked his jaw and looked away. This stupid beast of a man could never understand him, could never fathom his psyche. He couldn't know what it was like to hear the voices, the whispers, the rumors, that followed him around school like his father's ghost. Every day. The same strong features and bright blue eyes that made Frank hate him so much did not escape the notice of the outside world. He was twelve years old, and he was already haunted by a grown man's legacy. _

_When Jim refused to acknowledge Frank's taunts, the older man snorted. Just a noise, but it said it all: You're a stupid kid who looks too much like his father. You're a burden to me and you always be worthless. I care about you about as much as I care about the mud on my shoes._

_"Cat got your tongue, boy?" Frank gave Jim a harsh shove in the ribs._

_Jim bit his lip, tasting blood as he doubled over just slightly. He couldn't help his reaction as his damaged ribs shifted and his nerves screamed for relief. _

_Frank leaned in close, putting one heavy hand on Jim's hunched shoulder. Jim could smell the alcohol, now._

_"You think that hurts?" Frank said softly in his ear. "Wait til you see what I do to you next time you leave the garage unlocked." Frank shoved him backwards abruptly. Jim's back hit the door. "Piece of trash." Frank muttered as he stalked away, leaving Jim standing by the stairs clutching his aching ribs._

_Jim glared after him, thinking that he hated him._

_.  
_

"Captain?"

Jim's eyes snapped open, and he immediately regretted it. Even the soft light from the flickering safety bulbs seemed to be driving needles straight into his skull.

It took a long time—too long—for Jim to get a good grasp on where he was and why he was lying on the cold metal grating. He almost wished he hadn't remembered.

He turned his head groggily to find the source of the voice. Spock knelt nearby, obviously wary of triggering another uncontrolled reaction from his captain.

"The hour prescribed by our captors is coming to a close." Spock intoned gently. "I thought you might wish to be awake and alert for whatever might come."

Jim nodded, working his jaw as he tried to regain muscle control. He felt so far away from everything, as though he were caught in another dream. A dream within a dream... now there was an idea.

"H'long?" He mumbled.

"Four minutes."

"Hmm." Jim tired to sit. It was harder than it should have been, but thankfully Spock did not move to assist him. Jim needed to try to salvage whatever dignity he could right now, and if that meant sitting up on his own... well then. Damned if he wasn't going to sit up on his own.

"We have had very little success in removing the debris." Spock went on, pretending not to notice how hard Jim was trying just to keep his eyes open. "We managed to dislodge a portion of the wall, but we may not be able to proceed much further if the ships exterior hull is damaged further down the corridor."

"Good work." Jim's voice was cooperating a little more now. "They'll take me first, and when they bring me back I think we'll have a little time." Spock's jaw tightened, but Jim was firm. "Don't do anything stupid. And take care of my crew." He sighed, looking down the corridor at Sulu and the clustered medics.

"Jim," Spock got his instant attention by using his first name, "I might be able to convince our captors to take me first. You are in no condition to sustain further damage—"

"Spock." Jim tired to smile. "That's real... official of you, and all, but you don't have anything to worry about. There's not a whole lot that could happen to me that hasn't happened before."

Spock cocked his head just slightly. "You have been in a hostage situation facing immediate bodily harm in the past?"

"Well." Jim coughed out a laugh. "Not quite. What I'm saying is, I'll bounce back. Whatever they can come up with, I can handle."

"Your human pride is astonishing." Spock remarked. "You cover fear and pain with arrogance. A useless tactic." Jim rolled his eyes. "Nonetheless, you are my Captain and I will follow your commands."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Jim grinned. "Just make sure nothing happens to this." He reached out and pressed the single communicator into his first officer's hand. "Those are my commands."

Spock nodded slowly, taking the communicator and sliding it into the now-empty holster on his belt. He buttoned the safety strap over it, and Jim sighed again, leaning his head back against the wall.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, and Jim's shoulders tightened. Spock shifted, but Jim glared at him.

"You make sure." He reminded Spock.

Tight-lipped, Spock stood and moved reluctantly away from the door.

Metal screamed on metal, and the heavy door creaked open. Two prisoners with phasers ready stepped into the corridor, sights trained on the medics and Spock. Two more followed. Thankfully, they ignored the rest of his crew and went straight for Jim, as he'd predicted. The hauled him up between them and the gunmen followed them out.

Jim met Spock's eyes as he was pulled out. For one brief moment he wondered what his first officer was thinking—what the stiff shoulders and clenched jaw really meant. He really didn't know Spock all that well. What he saw as some slight emotion like worry might simply be concern for the crew and the mission. In the momentary glimpse, Jim suddenly realized that the other man was feeling a lot more than that.

The doors shut and locked behind them.

Jim tried to remain upright as he was pushed and prodded along, but his stomach and head were not taking kindly to becoming suddenly vertical. His stomach muscles clenched as he tried to repress his nausea, and eventually the convicts resorted to half-dragging him through the wreckage towards the bridge. He didn't fight them.

Without their scar-faced leader around the convicts seemed much less passive. One of them continuously tried to make Jim trip by pulling him over beams and wires strewn across the hallway. The convict guffawed loudly when he finally succeeded.

The others laughed along as Jim hit the ground hard. He tried to use the moment of breathlessness to regain his bearings. He couldn't believe he had been reduced to this.

"Ahmrak is going to skin you alive." One of the gunmen laughed at Jim's lack of resistance as they hauled him up by his arms. "Some great starship captain you turned out to be."

_Ahmrak. _Well at least now he had a name to put with the face.

Reaching the bridge seemed to take ages. Whether that had more to do with what waited for him there or what lay behind him, he couldn't have said.

Scar-face—_Ahmrak—_waited by the captain's chair. Jim's blood boiled a little at the thought of this man getting his hands on his ship.

Not while he had breath left in his body,

"Captain." Ahmrak smiled cordially at Jim, greeting him like a guest. "Welcome to the bridge. As you can see, we've been going through a little restructuring around here but I'm sure you can forgive the mess."

The other convicts snickered.

"What do you want?" Jim tried to sound strong. He wasn't sure if it had worked. The room was tilting around him, and in an odd way he was grateful that the arms holding him in place were also holding him up.

"Now, is that any way to address your host?" Ahmrak frowned.

Jim hated how confident this man seemed given the situation. It seemed so unnatural, as if the escapee already knew exactly how every detail would play out. Jim had walked into a trap like a rookie, yes—but that didn't mean he was going down without a fight.

"Boys, we're being rude." Ahmrak smiled. "Why don't you guide the good captain to a seat? Why not the captain's chair? It seems so fitting."

Jim was pushed forward and shoved down into the vacated captain's chair. His hands were pressed against the arm-rests and strapped down with some kind of tough plastic binding. His feet were similarly secured. His head pounded in time with his heart, dulling his fear somewhat.

Jim swallowed his nerves. He could handle this.

"Guro, please patch us through to the Enterprise." Ahmrak addressed a tattooed convict seated at the communications and control console.

Within moments, Chekov's face appeared on the screen.

"Enterprise, you have had the specified amount of time to consider our proposal." Ahmrak paced around Jim's chair as he spoke. "Before you deliver your response, I would like to remind you of the severity of your situation."

Without warning, one of the prisoners standing near Jim lashed out, catch Jim full across the face with the butt of his gun.

Jim couldn't help the soft sound of surprise and pain that tore free from his throat, but he quickly bit his lip. He glared at the offending prisoner, feeling the trickle of blood make it's way down his face from a cut on his cheek.

Chekov swallowed, eyes wide.

_Stick to the book._ Jim warned him mentally as he sucked on his sore lip. _Don't you dare give up my ship._

"Arabeth." Chekov's voice sounded strained. "Ve vill not give in to your demands. This is a federation starship and ve are not permitted to meet the demands of our enemies."

"Well, I suppose you'll have to decide whose side you're really on real quick." Ahmrak smiled at the screen.

This time, Jim was prepared for the blow. It still hurt. He spit a mouthful of blood at the convict's feet.

"Is that your final answer?" Ahmrak sighed when Chekov refused to respond, glancing away from the screen with a grimace.

"Yes, it is."

_Good man. _Jim smirked.

"Very well." Ahmrak didn't sound terribly regretful. "Have a seat, my Federation friend. We're about to start the show."

"Chekov," Jim commanded, his voice slightly distorted by his sore lip, "cut the line!"

"How noble." Ahmrak remarked, cocking his head at Jim. At some point while Jim's attention had been on the screen, Ahmrak had produced a long, thin piece of metal that bore a disturbing resemblance to a blade. He toyed with it now as he looked at Jim, relishing Jim's uneasy attention. "Don't want to demoralize your crew? What, you don't think they're watching in anticipation for the blood and tears? They're humans, just like us." He knelt in close, and putting a hand on Jim's shoulder, whispered in his ear. "They want to see you suffer."

_Frank leaned in close, putting one heavy hand on Jim's hunched shoulder. Jim could smell the alcohol, now._

Jim clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes shut, desperately willing his mind to separate old memories from new. Ahmrak, face too close, laughed softly at him.

"Don't lose me now, Kirk. We're just getting started. Need a little reminder of the here and now?"

Lifting his arm, Ahmrak plunged the metal shard through Jim's left hand and through the arm of the captain's chair.

Jim made no sound, but his teeth bit through his lip again and he tasted the blood pooling in his mouth. On screen, Chekov made a sound of distress that only strengthened Jim's resolve not to cry out.

_Breathe. _He reminded himself as flashes of white danced across his vision.

"Captain Kirk? Are you still with me?" Ahmrak taunted, tapping the side of Jim's face.

Jim breathed out heavily through his nose, willing himself to stay steady and calm. He looked down at his hand, trying to detach. The white-hot pain radiating out from his nerve endings made this difficult. As did the sight of a six inch metal stake protruding from his hand.

"Chekov." Jim breathed out shakily. "This is an order from your commanding officer. Turn off the screen."

_Please don't watch this._

There was a long pause during which Jim refused to meet his navigation officer's tortured eyes, and then the screen went blank.

Ahmrak sighed. "Did you really think you'd catch a break by depriving me of my audience, Captain Kirk?" He laid a heavy hand on Jim's shoulder once again.

If Jim hadn't been tied hand and foot, he would have snapped his arm at the wrist for the contact.

Ahmrak wrapped his fingers around the metal shard, sending jolts of white-hot agony up Jim's arm. "Captain," the convict smiled cruelly, "I'm just getting started."

Jim took a breath, and waited for the pain.

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GASP. An update? In three days?

Yes.

Consider this my "I'm sorry" chapter. :)

Just remember: YOU make my day, every single time you review! You have no idea how big I smile and how many times I reread my alerts every single time I hear from you. You inspire me. :)

And so, to further apologize for my inconsistencies, etc, I am going to personally respond to reviewers this time.

By the way, only one person (my new buddy Aiso-san) introduced themselves! What's up with that? :)

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**Frozenlaughter**: Thank you soooo much. I love Jim angst in all of the above categories as well, hahaha. It's so encouraging to hear feedback like that, especially about specific parts of the story. I hope you will keep reviewing, it makes my day! Hope this gives you a temporary fix. :)

**Dustykingdom**: Gah, I'm flattered. :) Thank you so much for your encouragement, and I hope I continue to live up to your expectations!

**Cinekimi**: Thanks so much, I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far!

**LyradanaGreetsTheWind**: I freakin' love getting your reviews! You always have so much to say, it makes me so happy. :) Thank you so much for reviewing faithfully, and I promise I'll try not to torture you for too long anymore! I can usually get a little writing done at work when it's slow, thus the quick new chapter. Keep your fingers crossed for more paid downtime, haha. ;)

**Sei Hishida**: Thank you! Hope you keep reading and reviewing, and of course enjoying the story. :)

**Aiso-san**: Thanks so much for your constant reviews, and for introducing yourself! I love Washington, but I've only ever been to Seattle. Such a gorgeous state, you're lucky to live there. I hope you find time to write something! Don't let real life keep you from doing what you really want to do: one day you'll realize you lived twenty years that way. :( I know from experience, haha. If you ever get around to posting something, I'll definitely come review. :)

**ShamelessSpocker**: (I love your name!) Thankyouthankyouthankyou for your wonderful reviews and encouragement!

**GingeRed**: This quick update is my thank-you-for-reviewing gift. I hope it's up to par! Jim's nightmares and childhood will all be explained in time as well: have to draw out the angst a little, you know. There's a lot more in store for Jim and the crew. Things are just getting started. :) Thank you sooo much for reviewing! I hope to hear more from you!

**Spinalcracker**: Haha, thank you so much! I know, I'm a sucker for concerned-Bones-conversations, as you can probably tell. Gotta love those two. I'm so flattered that you like my story so much, you made my day!

**AquaMage**: Nope, you're not getting rid of me that easily! Haha, thanks so much for your feedback!

**Super Ultra Sexy Spockfish** (your username is amazing, just so you know): Your reviews always make me smile. :) I hope this quick update makes up for all the agonizingly slow ones.

**irezel**: I know right? Silly Jim, he's just too stubborn for his own good. :) thanks so much for your support!

**Tony WildRiver**: Thank you! I had fun writing it. I love Jim and Bones friendship, they make me smile. :)

**Lori Jean**: Thank you so much! I know, there is way too much sex/slash/het going on on right now... it's kind of hard to sort through for the decent stories. Doesn't stop me from trying, though! :) Thank you for your feedback and support, I hope you will continue reading!

**Krishnaa**: My favorite genre as well! I'm glad I could give you another fic to satisfy your Spock/Kirk craving. ;) Don't worry, no slash, gore or melodrama for me! Well, not too much gore anyway. :) No more than there was in this chapter anyway. I hope you keep reading and reviewing!

**TipsyTippyToes**: And you made my day! Your reviews make me smile so much, I love reading them. :) I hope you'll keep reading and letting me know what you think!

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I have one more question for all of you! What kind of music (artists, songs, genres, etc) do you see for this story? My playlists play a big part in my writing, and I'm still developing one for this story. I'd love to hear your suggestions.

Take care, and do review! :)


	5. Lean On Me

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Chapter Five: Lean On Me

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Time passed. Minutes, hours. Days? There was no way to tell. For Jim, time and space had funneled down to a deep, dark pit of screaming nerve endings and stomach-wrenching nausea. His migraine had become a screaming banshee in his skull, sending electric jolts of pain directly into his eyes every time he blinked. There was a faint roaring sound in his ears and sometimes, if the convicts hit him just right, he would see flashes of light that he couldn't entirely blame on the torture.

God, this was getting old.

Simply to keep himself going, Jim was still operating under the premise that a week of sleep sometime in his near future would make all of this go away. Because all told, the prisoners had done exactly what he'd expected them to: they'd roughed him up a bit, laughed at his pain, and generally had themselves a good time of it. He was just grateful they hadn't resorted to any more malicious forms of torture yet-a beating he could take.

Hell, this wasn't even the worst he'd had.

So far the worst part had been Ahmrak-the other prisoners weren't really all that tough. Ahmrak was cold, calculating, and at complete ease with the situation. Disturbingly so. He continuously removed the thin metal shard from the wound on Jim's hand, only to stab him with it again. Over and over. Jim was willing to bet that he would have permanent damage if this kept up much longer. The pain was unbelievable, and after the second time Ahmrak ripped the thing free, Jim hadn't been able to hold back his cries of pain. Breaking his silence had sent the other escapees into a frenzy. They joined in, taking turns pounding on him. Others only watched from the sidelines, content to laugh and taunt.

_Keep laughing. _Jim ground his teeth and tried to strong-arm his way through the waves of pain. _Keep laughing you ugly bastards. I'm going to stick a phaser between your eyes before this day is over._

"g't'hell." Jim bravely kept up his smart remarks, even as it became ever more apparent that he was not helping his case.

"I'm sorry, you seem a little distant." Ahmrak laughed. The smugness in the man's voice was enough to rally Jim's pride.

"I said go t' hell." He smiled, managing to lift his head enough to stare his tormenter in the eye.

"I've been there, Captain." Sighed Amrak, straightening. "As you may have noticed, I am trying to leave it. And you will help me."

"Sure I will. You probably still think Santa Claus is real too."

Jim's comment earned him a powerful punch to the face. Damn, this guy was strong.

"It'll be difficult to hand ov'r m' ship if I can't talk." Jim mumbled around his cut and swollen lips. His breathing was shallow and strained as he tried to find some way, _any _way to stay on top of the situation.

"I'm not enjoying this any more than you are, Captain." Ahmrak said in a tone that was almost sincere. "Do you really think that this is what I want to be doing? I am an honest man like yourself, simply trying to regain my life."

"Let me guess." Jim rasped. "You've got a wife waiting for you, a couple of kids. Your life stinks and it's so unfair that you ever got sent to prison. Just another misguided atrocity: courtesy of the justice system. "

Ahmrak stared at him hard. "You seem to have such a keen grasp on the situation." He scoffed.

"What can I say—I was always the smart one."

"Tell me, Captain James Kirk. Do you find much comfort in your jokes? From where I am standing, it seems that you may be laughing, but you are still bleeding."

"Yeah, well try it from where I'm standing."

Ahmrak smiled coldly, leaning close. "I have."

"Well then maybe you've figured out that your pathetic little parlor tricks aren't really going to work on me." Jim snarled, straining against his bonds.

_That's it, smartass. _He scolded himself. _Keep up the sarcasm. It's all fine and dandy until you really piss them off and they start lopping off your fingers. _

Ahmrak seemed to agree with Jim's often-ignored voice of self-preservation. "You really aren't the brightest man I've ever met." He observed. "Are you really trying to make this harder on yourself?"

Jim spit in the man's face, smirking as Ahmrak flinched back.

_I don't care how hard it is on me._ Jim thought grimly, _just keep your filthy hands off my crew and off my ship._

"Well," Ahmrak sighed, "since you asked so politely…"

Jim braced himself as a large convict stepped forward in response to his leader's nod. Taking hold of Jim's arm and shoulder with practiced ease, he gave a sharp, powerful tug.

Dancing lights exploded across Jim's vision. It felt as though his arm had been ripped out of its socket. He slumped forward, half-sobbing with the effort of holding back his cries.

Ahmrak didn't give Jim much time to compose himself before he invaded his personal space again. "How are we feeling?" His voice was full of false concern as he leaned down to peer into Jim's bloody face.

Jim's head lolled. He didn't even have the energy for a sarcastic remark at this point. He knew the pain was sending his body into a downward spiral and now keeping his eyes open was a challenge. A challenge he quickly realized he was failing.

"Hey." Ahmrak tapped him sharply on the cheek. "Captain. Stick around a little longer, hm?"

Jim didn't have the breath in his lungs to answer even if he had wanted to. His arm was throbbing mercilessly. He didn't know if it were broken or simply dislocated, and right now he was too disoriented to even attempt to find out. He couldn't breathe.

"You bore me, captain." Ahmrak sighed, straightening in disapproval. He turned to the burly man who had done… _something_ to Jim's arm, and another armed convict.

"Throw him in with the others. You have until the end of Maraka's sun-cycle, Captain." The convict glared menacingly at Jim, all traces of former civility gone. "Next time, you won't be the only one learning how very serious I am."

The prisoners chuckled, cutting Jim's bonds free and hauling him up out of the blood-stained chair.

Jim moaned in agony as his throbbing arm was jostled, but bit his lip as a strong wave of nausea welled up in his gut.

_Don't you dare give in to this. _

Jim's body rarely obeyed his mind.

Unprepared for the sudden drop in weight, the prisoners weren't entirely able to hold him up as Jim's knees gave out and he crumpled forward. Half-falling into his captors, Jim's stomach gave up the fight. Turning away as much as he could, he retched violently, bringing up the sparse contents of his stomach on the command deck.

The prisoners were hooting with laughter by now, and Jim's face burned as he struggled to hold himself up.

He might feel like shit. And he might be completely humiliated in front of his crew. And he might be a helpless captive in the hands of murderous, hijacking escaped convicts. But damnit, he was still Starfleet Officer Captain James Kirk. And James Kirk always had a plan.

On his hands and knees, staring down at his own vomit, Jim smiled grimly. In his uninjured hand, he palmed the small knife he'd slipped off the convict's belt when he fell and tucked it into his sleeve.

He was James Kirk. And he was not going to die this way.

Tired of watching him grovel, his two new guards heaved him up and half-dragged him off the bridge.

Trapped in a bleary haze, Jim was unable to resist. Sooner than he realized, he was thrust through a groaning metal door and stumbled into blackness.

.

It was some time before reality faded back into focus. It was the sound of the buzzing and sparking lights that did it, he supposed: a sound that had no place in the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. It took even longer for his other senses to kick back into gear, and he flinched away as he realized he was in uncomfortable proximity to a warm body and an unfamiliar pair of hands.

"Please still, Captain."

"Spock?" Jim rasped, squinting through his quickly-swelling left eye. He could feel his rocketing heart-rate slowing to a more manageable level.

"Yes, Captain." Spock answered grimly.

Jim breathed deeply, ignoring his protesting ribcage. He realized he was lying on his back near the door, his head resting on a pillowed regulation jacket from one of the medics.

Spock sat close by his head, dabbing Jim's forehead with a salvaged rag from god-knew-where.

"The prisoners relieved the medics of their equipment," Spock informed him with a note of regret in his voice, "so we were unable to provide you with sufficient medical care. I apologize."

"Look at you being all maternal and stuff." Jim chuckled, wheezing. "Who'd have known."

Spock was silent for a long moment. "Captain, are you coherent?"

Jim tried to laugh—he really did. The fact that it quickly deteriorated into a painful cough that sent a trickle of blood running down his chin didn't really matter at this point.

"I will construe this response as an affirmative." Spock sighed, wiping Jim's chin with more gentleness than Jim knew he possessed.

To be quite honest, Jim wasn't sure he was completely comfortable with a gentle, almost compassionate Spock. He had never dealt well with emotions, and although his Vulcan first officer was the farthest thing he could imagine from emotional, it was far easier to base a relationship on sarcasm and verbal sparring than any real connection.

"How long have I been out?" Jim tried to ignore his Vulcan companion's atypical behavior.

"Approximately 2 hours." Spock sighed, just slightly, reminding Jim once again that he wasn't the only one having a tough time of it here. "It is difficult to record the passage of time without the use of our equipment."

"They didn't hurt anyone else, did they?" Jim tried to quench the sudden flare of panic that such a notion evoked.

"No." Spock's response calmed him. "They threatened us on two separate occasions, but did not act."

"Good, good." Jim sighed. "Still got that communicator?"

Spock produced it, intact and blinking reassuringly. Jim sighed in relief.

"Don't worry." He tried to smile. "I got this. We'll get out of here."

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, and the buzzing lights nearly lulled Jim back into the darkness, away from his body's aches and pains.

Spock's voice brought him back. "Captain, may I speak freely?"

Jim grunted.

The Vulcan hesitated. "If you are unable to process communication at this time—"

"'s ok, Spock." Jim sighed, feeling far too tired.

Spock went on carefully, his voice soft. "The mind is a complex organ, delicate and mortal, and yet almost machine-like in nature. It's subtleties and complexities have only barely been tapped. It is known, however, that in times of extreme physical and mental duress, the mind often projects memories which it associates with strong emotion. In times of fear or helplessness, it may inadvertently produce like memories. For an already telepathically sensitive race such as the Vulcans, such memory impulses are often projected or transferred without the subject's knowledge." He looked down at Jim, and if there has been the slightest doubt in the starship Captain's mind exactly what his first officer was talking about, it vanished.

Jim's stomach sank. "What's your point, Spock?" His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

Spock hesitated, obviously unwilling to force the issue on the defensive human.

"Perhaps, a human tactic. Let me tell you a story." He said instead.

Jim frowned, but didn't answer.

"There was a boy. A human boy. He was born in circumstances out of his control and his life progressed in a similar fashion. He was talented; brilliant. A prodigy, even, but lonely. His talent and intelligence didn't matter simply because he looked too much like his father."

Spock looked down at him again, but Jim could not meet his eyes. His throat constricted painfully as he looked away, stomach in knots. He had no idea what the look in Spock's eyes meant, but he couldn't bear it. He'd seen expressions like it too many times before.

"Everyone knew this." Spock went on, his voice barely higher than a whisper. "But there were so many things they didn't know. They didn't know that his own mother could not bear the sight of him for the pain it caused her. Nor could they know that his step-father felt the same way."

"Stop." Jim choked out, trying to salvage the last remains of his willpower to keep himself together.

Spock didn't stop. "They did not see the bruises. They did not feel the broken bones, or hear the words."

Jim wanted to scream. To lash out, to _hurt_ something. Anything to stop the painful words coming out of Spock's mouth. "Stop." He tried again, knowing the words sounded less like the command of a seasoned starship captain and more like the pleas of a beaten child. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Spock ignored his protests. "Over the past several days, I was unsure of what I was seeing. Every time we experienced even the most casual contact, I sensed a great deal of pain in you, Jim. It was a pain that stemmed from the deepest parts of your psyche, and buried there, it came to haunt you. I saw images, heard words—and I felt pain. Your pain, Jim: a pain that somehow refuses to remain in your past for reasons almost incomprehensible to modern science."

"Well we've all got our demons." Jim rasped. "Congratulations, now you know all my secrets."

"It is not my intent to gain leverage over you through this, nor to inflict any form of mental pain." Spock frowned. "I merely wish to express this: that I feel I have gained a deeper understanding of you, James Kirk, and although this knowledge was gleaned without your express consent, I feel that it may benefit our relationship. Our friendship."

Jim had the illogical urge to cry. Or scream. He'd take either option right now if he could convince his body to work up a physiological reaction at all. "Yeah, let's just be the bestest buddies from now on. I mean that's the obvious solution. Everyone needs a pet nutcase, right?" Even still, he couldn't completely dispel his defensive anger.

_Shut up shut up shut up._ Jim's logic warned. He knew full well that he was just making things worse, but that seemed to be exactly what he was best at.

"I know you have been in excruciating pain for the past week." Spock persisted, thankfully ignoring his childish outburst. "Why you have not sought medical attention is a great mystery to me, and out of respect for you I chose not to bring it the Doctor's attention. But there is some pain that I find more difficult, if not impossible to ignore."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Jim let his eyes slide shut, trying to pretend that this really wasn't happening and that he could will himself to wake up soon. He'd had migraines that caused him to hallucinate before. Why not now?

"Jim, I reminded you once that you did not need to suffer alone." Spock chided. "Why can you not believe it?"

_Because people lie._

"Spock. I appreciate your efforts here…" Jim sighed awkwardly, trying desperately to salvage some kind of dignity out of this soul-baring conversation, "but this isn't something a touchy-feely conversation can fix, you know?"

"I understand." Spock said gently. "And I do not believe I can attempt to repair the damage done to your life in the past. I sincerely hope, however, that you will allow me to remain a part of your future."

That gave Jim pause. "What are you saying?" He asked quietly. The knocking noise in his head was back, keeping time with his elevated heartbeat and panicked hyper-awareness and he couldn't be completely sure he was really understanding all that was going on.

"I am simply expressing, once more, my apologies for whatever misunderstandings have transpired between us in the past." Spock spoke plainly. "I have come to hold a deep respect for you in the short time I have known you, James Kirk, and I would extend my friendship."

Jim stared long and hard at his first officer, trying desperately to delve into the strange, overly-logical mind behind those brown eyes. If nothing else, this was his chance to make this go away. Maybe he could fall back on the tired-but-true tactic of pretending this conversation had never taken place.

_What the hell. _That less-complicated part of his brain spoke up. _No going back now._

Sighing painfully, Jim held up his hand.

"It's called a handshake." He made a pained effort to smile when Spock cocked an eyebrow. "It's a human thing. It means "why the hell not?"

Spock smiled in that distinctive, not-really-smiling way, and clasped Jim's hand.

"Spock." Jim sighed. "Help me up off my ass, will you? I'm getting us out of here."

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And here you go: yet another chapter completed from start to finish on my boss' dime. XD A little longer this time, too. So thank you again for all your amazing reviews, kids! You're amazing.

Also, thank you to the two reviewers who pointed out that I was mislabeling Chekov: I had him titled "communications officer" when in fact he is the navigation officer and Uhura is the communications officer. Sorry about that! I've gone back and fixed those spots.

To answer some FAQ, Sulu and Uhura will both appear later on—Sulu definitely a little more than Uhura, just because he fits into the plot better.

Also, sorry, I'm a sucker for Jim angst and there had to be at least a mild torture scene in there. As you can see, he has escaped, for the time being, relatively unscathed! (Doesn't that just boost your confidence?)

I'm also a frequent sufferer of migraines and I am just coming out of a lot of years of… other Jim-like problems, so I actually had quite a bit of material to draw from for this story. I'm glad it's doing its job at convincing you. :)

As a final note, I am a huge sucker for McCoy/Jim friendship, so he will be popping up a lot later in the story. I can't help myself. I'm an angster to the core.

Can't wait to hear from you, and enjoy the new chapter!


	6. Above and Beyond

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Chapter Six: Above and Beyond

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Jim was exhausted. Not in that comes-and-goes kind of way, or even in that a-good-nights-sleep-will-fix-this kind of way. He was exhausted in a way that suggested if he were to close his eyes for more than a brief moment, he might not have the strength to open them again. In a way that meant if he stumbled now; if he came down off his I'm-a-Captain-damnit high, he might be done for good.

It was this knowledge that kept him from throwing up all over his first officer's shoes when Spock slowly helped him to his feet, and it was the same fact that helped him find the sheer willpower to face his crew unflinchingly, like nothing at all was wrong and no, he really wasn't covered in bruises and soaked in his own blood.

Forcing himself to remain standing, Jim leaned unsteadily against the wall, cradling his damaged arm, and motioned for Spock to hand him the communicator.

Taking a deep, steady breath, Jim dialed in to his ship. When the line came alive, there was a muffled sound as someone tried to answer and was cut off. After a moment, Bones' voice cut across the line instead, full of worry and relief.

"Jim?" The familiar voice caused about half the tension to drain right out of Jim's body. He never realized how much he counted on Bones always being there until suddenly, he wasn't.

"Yeah, Bones. Who did you run over to get to the comm, anyway?"

"What? …oh. Some ensign. It doesn't matter. Are you alright?"

"Of course." Jim lied.

"Liar."

"Hey now. Given the circumstances, I'm doing pretty damn well."

"I don't believe you. You're never doing well, and 'given the circumstances' you're probably half-dead and bleeding out in a cell somewhere."

Jim scowled at the all-too-accurate guess and painstakingly straightened himself up a little. "Well I'm not quite to _half _dead, Bones. Maybe a quarter—"

"Sure you're not. Tell me what's happening."

"I really need to speak to Scotty, actually." Jim admitted. "This isn't exactly a medical emergency." Jim hoped Bones would take that as an order from his captain and not as an excuse from his hypo-dodging friend: although technically, it was both.

There was a reluctant silence for a moment. "You'd better be telling the truth, or so help me, Jim…" McCoy's quiet muttering faded out and in a brief moment, a familiar Scottish accent replaced his southern drawl.

"Good to hear yer alive ad kickin', Captain." The engineer hid the relief in his voice a little better than Bones. "Wasn't too sure for a stretch, there."

"Scotty." Jim closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool metal paneling, trying to calm the pounding. "I think I can rig something up over here using the communicator and some of the wiring from the lights."

Scotty was silent for a moment. "Really?"

Jim grinned. "I'm not a complete idiot. I'm going to try and transmit a signal over the jamming device these guys are using to cancel out the transporter systems. I don't know how strong it is, but my guess is whatever I can come up with won't have the power to completely interfere with it; not on a ship this secure. Best I can do is break it up. Once I start working the communicator won't function anymore, so you've got to start scanning for the pulse frequencies. When they start, you should be able to beam the crew back one at a time between breaks in the jamming system."

"Tha' might work, actually…. Though if it's pulsing I don't know tha' I'll be able to lock on to your coordinates, Cap—"

"You can do this." Jim beat back a wave of exhaustion, trying to keep his voice hopeful and alert. "Don't worry about it. Just be on the look out for breaks in the frequency. You can do that?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Good." Jim hesitated. "I won't be able to contact you again so… if anything happens to me…. tell Bones it's not his fault. Got it?"

"Yes sir." Scotty sounded sober. "So don't let anything happen. Ya got _that_?"

Jim smiled. "Yeah."

"Good luck, Cap."

"Thanks.

Breathing out slowly, Jim switched the communicator off.

Spock stood nearby, watching him silently. No doubt he had heard the conversation. Jim didn't mind that as much as he minded that damn _look_ in his first officer's eyes. It made Jim want to punch him. Last time he'd tried that approach, however, things really hadn't worked out for him so well. Given this assessment, Jim settled for stoically ignoring him and ruthless maintaining his charade that nothing at all had happened between them and he was perfectly _fine, _thank you very much.

"Change of plans." He addressed the medics and Sulu, who had not ceased work on the pile of debris since their capture. "We're not going to be digging through the wreckage."

Seriously?" Sulu swore roundly, causing several of the medics to titter at his frustration.

_Good_. Jim thought. _Let them lighten the mood, if they can. _

Spock, taking his cue from the plan Jim had already outlined for him, began to systematically assign crew members to their tasks, creating a series of barricades near the back of the corridor. Others team-lifted the larger, heavier pieces to the door, where they set about jamming it shut.

Jim eyed the growing barricade a little apprehensively, knowing that even their best efforts would not be able to keep the convicts out for long. They didn't have a lot to work with, and they were already running out of time.

Retreating to his corner, limping as inconspicuously as possible, Jim began taking apart the communicator. He still had the penknife he'd lifted off one of the convicts, but it couldn't replace having the right tools on hand. His gut churned—from nerves or pain, he couldn't be sure—and it really didn't help that his mutilated hand was almost useless. Clenching his jaw painfully, he forced it to move, knowing that to perform the delicate work of stripping and connecting the various wires and nodes he would need to be as steady as possible. Sadly, the still-bleeding hand was not very willing to cooperate, and progress was agonizingly slow.

Twice he gave his throbbing hands and aching head a relative break, hauling himself up to hobble up and down the wide corridor, searching for any wiring or computer panels that were still relatively intact. He didn't have much luck, but he was fairly certain he could use what he had and make it work. He was James T. Kirk: That was what he did.

Spock hovered like a watchful mother, irritating Jim to no end. Several times he offered to perform the work under Jim's instruction, but no way in hell was he having any of that. Jim already had the uneasy sensation that Spock had a lot to hold over on him, and he didn't have plans to let that increase anytime soon. To make matters worse, the sudden depth to their relationship was definitely freaking him out. Jim didn't do "close;" he didn't just let people in that easily. Just because the Vulcan had strong-armed his way into the darkest parts of his psyche didn't mean he was going down without a fight.

After what felt like hours, Jim felt that he had made sufficient progress on his makeshift jammer to risk a test. He told himself that this was his reason, because his decision could not possibly have anything to do with his fading vision and trembling limbs. Not at all.

He took a painful trip up and down the corridor to check on the crew's progress, and even he had to admit they hadn't done half bad. That might have had a lot to do with Spock's perfectionism and Sulu's fanatical dedication to whatever task was at hand. Right now, Jim wasn't being picky.

Spock instructed the crew to gather at the back of the hallway, where they had propped up large panels and chunks of fallen wall to serve as protection in case things got ugly. Joining them, Jim tried to sit but instead wound up sliding awkwardly to the ground, biting his lip as he clutched at his arm. Any earlier hopes he'd had that it was simply dislocated were quickly evaporating. He'd had too many broken bones in his lifetime to live in denial now.

Trying to focus (why was that so damn difficult right now?) Jim slowly punched the necessary coordinates into the makeshift transmitter. He hoped no-one else could see how badly his hands were shaking. The fingers on his damaged hand could scarcely keep a grip on the thing. As it began blinking, Jim vaguely wondered if Spock's reflexes were fast enough to catch it if Jim did happen to drop it. It wouldn't have surprised him. The Vulcan was still hovering while trying his best to seem as though he wasn't, which simply made for an awkward and more than slightly irritating situation all around.

After a long time—_too_ long—a soft keening sound came from the electronic device, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know if he would have been able to handle failure at this point. It wasn't exactly like he had a backup plan. But then again, when had he ever?

"Spread out." He told the crew, not bothering to rise.

They obeyed, standing close in anticipation. They vacillated between staring worriedly at the door and the noisy machine in Jim's hand.

"Captain, is there any way to communicate with the ship?" Spock asked, kneeling beside Jim. "You are in need of immediate medical assistance, you should be transported back immediately."

"Not on my life." Jim snorted. "Right now only one of us is a hot mess. Let's try to keep it that way, shall we?"

Spock frowned, but did not have time to formulate a response.

A soft whirring sound began, and one of the medics standing near the wall was encompassed in shimmering blue light. Within moments, he was gone. A few of the other crew members cheered quietly; Sulu pumped his fist.

"One down, eight to go." Jim murmured, feeling a twinge of real hope for the first time in hours.

"Impressive, Captain." Spock examined the screaming device in Jim's hand. "It is a crude application, but it appears that it is performing its task sufficiently."

"Not too bad for an Iowa farmboy, huh..." Jim slurred, trying to stay in the moment. Minutes ticked by as the frequency jammer pulsed and whined, and Jim watched dully as another crew member was slowly wrapped in light and teleported to safety.

"Not at all." Spock said softly, eyes fixed on the fading trails of light.

It was at about this point that the crew began to shift and murmur fearfully, and at first, Jim had no idea what they were worried about. And then, he heard it too: Footsteps in the outside corridor and the growl of harsh voices.

Behind their frighteningly weak-looking barricade, the heavy metal door creaked and groaned.

_Aw shit._

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So you know what the best part of my day is? Finding a review alert in my inbox. :)

Here's another chapter for you, once again courtesy of my boss. He's a pretty awesome guy, he's my Tae Kwon Do teacher too. He does take random days off which leave me free to sit on a computer all day writing FanFiction. I don't know how happy he would be if he found that out about that, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him right? :)

So on to the good stuff!

**Laynee, receneck, Mazeykins, val313, SparkieBunny, Elfsong, zhen123, Lori Jean, spinalcracker, tejdog1, Hikari Urania, Aqua Mage, rosimae, Super Ultra Sexy Spockfish, irezel, and TipsyTippyToes: **

You are all amazing. I've read your reviews about a million times, and I always go back and read them again when I'm feeling unmotivated. It's like WHAM! Instant good mood! Thank you tons for all the support.

**Obelia medusa:** Hah! That made my day. :) We FF junkies have to get our kicks whenever we can, right? I can almost pretend I'm getting paid to write, on days like today. How awesome would that be?

**ShamelessSpocker: **Thank you so very much, that's really kind of you. I'm of the opinion (and it took me a LONG time to get to it) that everything happens for a reason. I mean, if living through certain things makes me a better writer, than hey: at least it wasn't completely meaningless, right? And I probably would have been too much of a wuss to admit any of that without the anonymity of the internet, haha, so don't think I'm too brave. :P I'm so glad you're enjoying the story and thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. :)

**ColtDancer: **Consider me properly motivated! I love reading long reviews, they make me so happy. :) I wasn't completely happy with the Spock convo either, to tell you the truth (I don't think that I write him very well) but I am glad it got the desired message across. Oh yes, prepare for some serious McCoy screentime. He's one of my favorites, no way is he sitting this one out. :)

Thank you also to all those readers out there who aren't reviewing! I know how it is, life can be busy and sometimes reviewing is just a pain. I still do appreciate you, and I hope you will at least drop in at some point to say hello.

Thank you again! Do review!


	7. Breathe

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Chapter Seven: Breathe

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The door creaked open about an inch, and then hit the makeshift barrier the crew had thrown up around the entrance. The shouts of alarm from the convicts came at about the same time that the lights of the teleporter began to twist and wind around one of the female medics. Jim turned and locked eyes with her, and he saw the truth that she had so bravely tried to hide: She didn't want to die.

The Convicts were pounding on the door; the rubble shifted.

Hauling himself to his feet, Jim ran without thinking. The door slid, pushing the rubble back just as Jim's shoulder hit it. It slammed closed, which was good, because Jim needed a moment to recover. He reminded himself not to bodyslam a chunk of metal the next time he had a headache... and a broken arm... and broken ribs...

Well, maybe this was something he just shouldn't make a habit out of.

You see, if Jim had really stopped to think about it, he would have come to the conclusion that one very bruised and battered starship captain pressing against one side of a door wouldn't be facing very good chances when there were five or six burly escaped convicts pushing on the other side of it.

At the moment, all he could think about was buying his crew the precious few moments they needed. Just long enough for the frequency interrupter to work; for Scotty to get his crew off this hunk of stranded metal and back to safety where they belonged.

Cries of outrage came from the other side of the door, and then there was a massive push _back_ that almost landed Jim on his ass. He stumbled, but managed to recover. And once again, he did that one thing he had just finished promising himself he was not going to do again. Slammed into a door. And pretended that didn't make him want to scream in pain.

Bravely ignoring his body's many protests or not, he wasn't sure if he could hold through another hit like that.

And then Spock was there, beside him, pushing back.

And in that moment Jim almost forgave him for sledgehammering his way into his mind and insisting it was no big deal.

Almost.

Sulu appeared a moment later, and between the three of them they managed to keep the door from breaking in as it was hit again.

"You'd better open this door unless you want us to be wearing your skin in a few minutes!" One of the convicts threatened with a heavy, metallic thud.

"Is that the best you can come up with? Really?" Jim couldn't help yelling back. His shoulder was not taking kindly to the pressure being exerted on it, and his mind was telling him in no uncertain terms that his vocal choices were either taunting or screaming. He bit his lip hard as a particularly rough jolt from the other side nearly sent him to his knees.

"Captain?"

He looked up to see Sulu's dark eyes looking at him worriedly.

"Don't you dare." Jim pointed a shaking finger at him with as much attitude as he could muster. "Don't even think about it."

Sulu rolled his eyes as subtly as he could manage. "I know, I know." He muttered. "You're _completely _fine."

"Damn straight." Jim was having a hard time breathing, and he really didn't think he could handle anyone else worrying about him right now. He knew Bones was probably having an aneurism back on the ship, anyway.

If—_when—_they got out of this, Bones was never going to forgive him. Never.

"You asked for it, federation bastards!"

There was the sound of a phaser blast, and all three of them ducked out of pure instinct.

"It is unlikely that such tactics will be successful." Spock supplied helpfully. "A phaser would hardly be able to generate the force sufficient to penetrate a door of such—"

Another phaser blast, and several small chunks of metal fell down on Jim and Sulu's heads.

"You were saying?" Sulu growled.

Spock tilted his head. "I said it was _unlikely_."

Jim looked furtively to where the rest of the crew were huddled behind their makeshift barriers. Scotty had caught on fast: two more medics were safely back on board the Enterprise.

"Not that I'm trying to make a bad situation worse," Sulu remarked after it became obvious that the convicts were _very_ determined to make it through that door, even if it meant chipping pieces of it away one phaser blast at a time, "but you've got a plan for something like this. Right?" 

"I'm a Federation Captain. Of course I have a plan."

_I need a plan. Yesterday._

Spock glared at him disapprovingly. Maybe somewhere in his unwelcomed mind-worming he had also learned that Jim was a compulsive liar. This was Jim's best guess.

An unusual silence had settled over the prisoners outside, but they weren't given long to ponder its meaning. Heavy footsteps approached and then paused behind the door.

"I assume you are behind this, Captain Kirk." Ahmrak's voice sent a cold chill through Jim's bones. He hid it carefully.

"Behind the door? Why yes, I am. Kudos to you." Jim bit out.

"Very funny. I'm not sure what you think you can accomplish by this pointless show of heroism. We will make it through this door, and very soon after you will seriously regret your actions."

"I doubt that." Jim watched with bated breath as one of the last two medics was swathed in blue light. The dancing beams seemed to have slowed to a crawl now that time was running out on them.

"This is your last chance, James Kirk." Ahmrak was getting testy now. "Step away from the door, and I will be lenient on your crew. If you persist in blocking our way, however… well. Let's just say that you may not like the consequences.

_Hurry up Scotty._ Jim silently begged. At least his crew was almost safe. One the other hand, he didn't think he would last through a round two with Ahmrak in the condition he was in. He wouldn't—_couldn't_—admit it, but the possibility sent a sharp tremor of fear down his spine. His body still ached mercilessly and if he were to really take a moment to assess himself he would probably just collapse.

So, no assessing.

"Give it your best shot." Jim threatened with a bravado he really didn't feel.

Silence. For too long.

"As you wish, Captain." All civility had deserted the convict's voice.

Jim swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the flimsy-looking knife he'd stolen. His palms were sweaty and his torn and bleeding hand was going numb, which was a merciful, if a bit alarming, change.

A loud, high-pitched grinding sound began on the far side of the door, and Jim's heart dropped. Clearly, the convicts had been able to round up some kind of cutting tool. His fears were confirmed as a huge, spinning blade cut through the door like butter just above Jim's shoulder. Sulu grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him away just as the blade sliced downwards, hitting the floor directly where Jim had been.

Jim tried to be glad that Sulu had saved him from getting his arm chopped off. He really did. But it wasn't helping that it already felt like someone had already started amputating it, and then stopped for lunch break.

Spock and Sulu hauled him up, pulling him back towards the last remaining medic.

"_No_," He managed, shrugging them off, "No, we don't have a choice. We have to take them, or we're all dead."

Sulu started at him like he'd gone mad. "But… maybe there's enough time to get off the ship—"

"The Captain is correct." Spock looked gravely at the door, which was quickly giving way in chunks. "We must fight now or surrender. We have embarked upon this course of action; now we must see it through and attempt to minimize casualties."

A softer whirring sound met their ears, and they glanced over just in time to see the final medic dematerialize into flashes of light. Almost at the same moment, a huge chunk of the door fell inwards with an ear-splitting groan. Even over the scream of machinery, Jim could hear the crowd of convicts yelling wildly.

Sulu set his jaw as he looked grimly at Jim, and then bent down to pluck a long, thin piece of metal from the twisted rubble. Straightening, he weighed it in his hand and gave it a few experimental spins. "It's no _epee_, but it'll do."

"If we manage to win with that, I'm going to make fencing the official sport of theEnterprise." Jim grinned at him.

Sulu pointed the makeshift sword at Jim suspiciously. "Captain's honor."

With a heavy crash, the door caved inwards in chunks and shreds.

Armed with a five-inch blade and completely immobile in one arm, Jim charged.

He must have made an intimidating sight, because the prisoner holding the cutting blade stepped backwards with a look of surprise, tripping the man behind him.

It was all chaos from there.

Jim was vaguely aware of an "On guard!" being yelled from somewhere behind him, but he was too intent on plunging his blade into the nearest stomach to really pay attention. Naturally, this was a bad move. He took down one of the prisoners, but lost his blade in the process as his grip became slick with blood. Barely aware of his surroundings, he spun, whipped, and lashed out at anything that moved.

He was _not _going down like this.

Nearby, Spock was defending himself with a long, complicated series of flawlessly-executed hand-to-hand moves, and Sulu was lunging and parrying like a madman.

Then Ahmrak was in front of him, all coiled, muscled fury and steel-cold eyes. And Jim paused for just a moment too long, memories of pain all too fresh in his mind. Ahmrak lunged, catching Jim in the stomach with his shoulder and tackling him to the ground.

Jim cried out in agony as he felt the bones in his arm shift. Clenching his teeth, he rolled with the momentum of his attacker and managed to kick Ahmrak off over his head. He followed, slamming down on top of the convict as he tried to regain his balance.

Roaring in rage, Ahmrak whipped back and caught Jim in the chin with his elbow, throwing him off. Jim landed on the floor seeing stars and feeling very much as though he were going to lose the contents of his stomach. Thankfully there was nothing in his stomach, and he only watched, as if from a great distance, as Ahmrak wrapped one massive hand around his throat and hauled him to his feet.

_This is it._ The tired-of-fighting part of Jim's mind sighed in relief. _Time to die._

And then the hell-raising, glass-eating, fire-spitting side of Jim reared its stubborn head with a slew of andorian foul language. _Like hell it is._

Jim stopped clawing in vain at the hand of steel that kept him suspended and instead, aimed a good hard kick at Ahmrak's crotch. The convict "oomfed" in surprise and his grip loosened for just a moment. Jim lashed out with the last of his strength, tearing the phaser out of Ahmrak's belt and firing blindly.

There was a scream of pain, and Jim collapsed to the floor, wheezing for breath. Ahmrak crumpled beside him, howling in pain and clutching his shoulder.

He was done for. He had scraped the bottom of his reserve's reserves, and he was not moving another inch without the influence of some very serious drugs or alcohol.

And then something unexpected happened: or maybe it was just Jim's overworked brain finally imploding into delirium. He thought he saw his crew—his safe crew, his Enterprise crew— appear from somewhere around the edge of the corridor, phasers ready. He imagined that they were surrounding the few remaining convicts, and that they were suddenly safe.

That couldn't be right.

All that mattered for the moment was that it was quiet—very quiet, aside from a distant ringing in his ears. Everything felt quite distant, as if he was dreaming, and he let himself float bonelessly in that pleasant silence. A distant, nagging thought reminded him that Ahmrak wasn't dead and might still try to come after him, but damn if he wasn't just too _tired_ to think about that right now.

He spent an indeterminate amount of time floating, weightless in his blurry limbo before something shook him out of it. Or someone. Because someone was _there_, someone he knew too well to flinch away from.

"Bones?" He murmured.

Maybe he was dead. It just figured that Bones would haunt him in the afterlife.

"Yeah Jim, you're okay. I gotcha."

Gentle hands moved him slowly onto his back, catching him right before pressure settled on his broken arm.

Jim sighed heavily, wondering if it would give his friend a heart attack if he simply let go and passed out right now. He decided it would, so instead he reached out with his undamaged hand, grasping at air until Bones' cool fingers closed on his own. He sluggishly guided the hand to his forehead, pressing it there and soaking in the touch.

"fs'g." He slurred out a series of syllables that were meant to convey the ridiculous comfort the touch provided to his mercilessly throbbing skull. The sound didn't make sense in any language Jim knew, but McCoy's understanding showed on his face.

"That's ok, Jim."

There it was—that note in the Doctor's voice. Jim had heard it many times before. It made him feel as if he should apologize.

The hands moved from Jim's feverish forehead and neck to his broken arm. It hurt, of course, when the doctor touched it. In comparison to the kind of pain he had been feeling all day, however, it was like a fly buzzing in his ear. He didn't even wince this time.

"So y' finally made it to the party." Jim's words were broken through cracked and bleeding lips and he felt half-awake. But better than a moment before, and able to speak, which must have meant that Bones had hyposprayed him sometime in the last twelve seconds.

"Yeah, well maybe you should send me a proper invitation next time." McCoy's voice was strained to the breaking point, but he was first and foremost a professional. He peeled away the blood-slicked shirt from Jim's abdomen, prodding gently but incessantly at the bumps and bruises Jim could only imagine lay beneath. It said a lot for his state of mind that he could scarcely feel it.

"How're Spock? Sulu?"

"Fine." McCoy snorted. "How they wind up without a scratch and you look like you went through a meat grinder I will never know."

"Simple." Jim's words were lucid but still running together; he sounded drunk to his own ears. "There was a brawl to the death. Sulu was coach, and Spock was the judge." A pause. "But you should—"

"I should see the other guy, I know." Bones scowled. "Cause I've never heard that one before."

"Crew?"

"Fine. Two of the medics got themselves scratched up through sheer clumsiness, but I'm fairly certain they'll live."

"You've got the best bedside manner..." Jim smiled stupidly, feeling the drugs work. "I ever tell you that?"

McCoy scowled even harder at him; an expression meant to cover up his worry. "On many occasions."

Jim leaned his head back against the floor once again, suddenly exhausted from holding it up.

"Jim?"

There was that tone again, that note of repressed fear in the Doctor's voice. It was a tone that should have been purged from him long ago through sheer desensitization, after countless years of seeing the worst alien bacteria the stars could cough up, after stitching men back together, and pulling a sheet over them when they fell apart. And for the most part, it had. In fact, it only really popped up any more when Jim managed to find his way back into med bay, usually having been carried there on a stretcher. This was going to be one of those days. And although McCoy would be predictably pissed and unusually sharp for the duration of his stay, Jim knew it was simply because he was terrified. His worst fear was not the unholy black depths of space, as so many supposed. Rather, it was simply the fear that someday, Jim would be bleeding out in his best friend's arms and there would be nothing Bones could do about it.

"m'k." Again, the words came out nothing like they'd sounded in his head. Jim knew from experience that he needed to at least provide his friend with some indication that he was still alive, or that note of fear in his voice would quickly explode into full blown panic.

"Stay with me, Jim." It was a command, not a request.

Jim wanted to come back with something: maybe some default line about how he was the Captain here and he would not be taking orders, damnit, but his body did not agree with this line of reasoning. Instead he just nodded his head groggily, patiently enduring the poking and prodding.

Another hypo entered his bloodstream; he actually heard this one. The ringing in his ears had dulled a little at this point, but so, it seemed, had everything else.

He turned his head groggily from side to side, trying to see through the water-thick air that clouded his vision. Bones' mouth was moving as he looked intently down at him, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what he was saying.

There was a flurry of movement; two more medics were kneeling next to him. They carried a stretcher: an all too familiar sight.

Again, Jim found himself unable to hear their words or ever track their movements very well as the medics positioned at his shoulders and feet. He could still recognize Bones' hands; they were large and cool, and his left hand repeatedly strayed away to make some medical ministration, but always returned to Jim's burning forehead. It felt amazing.

All conscious thought fled from Jim's mind as the medics simultaneously moved and lifted him onto the stretcher. Despite their efforts to be gentle, the movement was enough to remind Jim quite vividly that he was not on painkillers. His back arched and his throat betrayed him with a cry of pain. His body's physiological reactions were so far outside his realm of control now that he could only observe, a distant spectator, as he made a complete ass out of himself.

"Jim!" Bones was there (Bones was always there) pressing him gently down, bringing him back to the present.

Jim's breaths were shallow and painful now; an ache had manifested in his ribs that had seemed trivial in comparison earlier, but now demanded his attention. He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He didn't understand why he was having such a hard time breathing.

"I need you to calm down, Jim." Bones held Jim's face between his cool hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You're going to be fine, but you're going to be in serious trouble if you don't start breathing. Understand?"

Jim's chin dipped; it was the closest thing he could manage to a nod. He wanted to listen to Bones. He really did. He tried to. His head was throbbing so mercilessly that it was taking his vision with it. His breath caught; he was sobbing in pain.

Bones was saying something to the medics in his best CMO tone; Jim couldn't have followed the conversation to save his life. Another hypospray entered Jim's neck. With the rate Bones was going, Jim wouldn't be able to move his neck for a week.

"Jim, I really can't give you anything stronger." Jim tried to zero in on Bones' voice, tried not to hear the fear in it. "You're going to have to hold on just a few moments longer until I can get you under anesthetic. Can you do that?"

_Of course I can do that. _ Jim wanted to tell him. _ I'm James Kirk._

Instead, he moaned pitifully.

"Damnit damnit _damnit…_" Bones was losing his battle to stay calm. Jim wanted to laugh, to reach out and tell him to _calm down_ already. This wasn't the end of the world. For being a man so preoccupied with the health of others he certainly couldn't have had healthy stress levels.

But he couldn't move, couldn't speak. Couldn't even be completely sure that he was still breathing.

"Come in, Enterprise." Bones' comforting voice finally cut through the haze. "Two to beam up." He looked down at Jim. "I've got the Captain."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

You know what's NOT conducive to an angsty mindset? Glee. You know what I was watching the entire time I was writing this chapter? Yep. Glee.

God, I am so in love with Darren Criss. SO IN LOVE.

Ok, I'm done fangirling.

On to the reviews!

But first, **funny story**: So in my last chapter I said "So you know what the best part of my day is? Finding a review alert in my inbox." And I meant it!

So, I posted Chapter 6. And I waited anxiously, biting my nails and tapping my feet in terrible anticipation.

AND NO REVIEWS.

And I was like 0_o. And I may have freaked out a little (but that's just a rumor). So I thought, "oh, it's just cause it's night time, and during the week, and no-one had time to review. But they'll be there in my inbox in the morning!"

Aaaaand the next morning: NO reviews. Not one. And then I really started freaking out.

Which went a little something like "OMG, they all hated that chapter! I knew I rushed it! It was terrible! I hate my writing! I've let my amazing reviewers down! I'm ashamed! I'm disgraced! I will never write again! Whaaaaaa!"

And this proceeded for the better part of an hour, during which time I moped about the house inconsolably while my two puppies whined at me in worry and my husband gave me weird looks. I definitely ate an entire box of Wheat Thins in my misery.

And then I had this sudden revelation that maybe the website was glitching out and there was NO way that NOBODY loved me, even enough to tell me my chapter totally sucked, so I put on my big-girl face and went online to the website itself to check.

And there they were! All the reviews. I had received 20 super-amazing reviews for Chapter 5. I discovered that I had 48 reviews for Chapter 6.

FORTY-EIGHT.

And my life was suddenly complete.

End of story. The moral is: Look before you leap (or in my case, look before you weep uncontrollably and consume unhealthy amounts of starch and sugar).

Aaaand reviews!

**Michi P., Squigglytext Fr3ya, Kalmiel, Katy23, May Eve, Receneck, save the sharks, irezel, Sauronia, Thomsen, The Best witch of all, Loves Jack, Zemby, Crystal Saffron, Timberlou22, kayenem, Terin, LaylaBinx, Super Ultra Sexy Spockfish, EllieInglis, TipsyTippyToes, SparkyBunny:**

I looooooove you! I read your reviews at least five or six times before I post each chapter. They make me so warm and fuzzy inside. :}

Also, thank you to **rayrae118, eVeRyThInGbLaCK,** and **cinekimi** who pointed out that I erroneously labeled Kirk a Georgia Farmboy in the last chapter instead of an Iowan. Which is funny, because reading back I actually got it right in the first chapter and then, who knows what happened? Haha. I think I may have rushed through editing on Chapter 6 and just missed it. Dur. But thank you for your awesome support; what would I do without you? :)

**Krishnaa**: That happened to my account too! (see pathetic story at beginning lol) I don't know what was up with that. Silly FFdotnet. Anyway, thanks for getting to it anyway, it makes me so happy to read your reviews! Long reviews especially make me so very very happy. Jim is such a puzzle, isn't he? I suppose that's why I love writing him. :)

**frozenlaughter:** I guess I'll forgive you for missing a chapter as long as it doesn't happen again. ;) Bahaha. Fear not, McCoy will (and already has, a bit) sweep in to save the day! There will be lots more of him, especially in later stories. ;)

**Shameless Spocker:** Well, I wasn't at work the _first_ time I read your review, but maybe the second, third, or sixth time. Yeah, I'm reading it again now and I'm definitely at work. :) But once again, my boss is taking calls from home today, so it is just me in a giant empty building answering phone calls. And reviews! Haha. Thank you so much for your amazing reviews and continuous support!

**Capt. Cow:** Whoah, careful with your blood pressure! I don't want to be responsible for sending anyone to the hospital here. ;) I am so glad you're enjoying it and getting into the story! So happy. :)

**ColtDancer**: HURRAY YOUR REVIEWS! I love reading your feedback, it makes my day. Plus I can always be sure that it's not just senseless gushing: half-the-time I have to go back and fix something after I hear from you, haha. But fear not: the comfort part is almost here! You got a little of it in this chapter, but there will be much more to come later. There's no point at all to beating the figurative crap out of Jim unless there is someone to lovingly patch him back together, right? Thank you!

**kkckat3**: If that's how you read each chapter, then my mission in life is fulfilled! I'm so happy you like it. Thank you!

**shoreleave**: I was so excited to see your review: I think your stories were some of the first I read when I started in on Star Trek fanfiction. Thank you for your support! :)

**Elfsong**: That's Jim, the MacGyver of the depths of space. I like it! Maybe I will have to throw in a vintage MacGyver reference somewhere, now. *begins plotting*

**callandra**: I know, I'm an evil terrible person. ;) You don't have to worry about anyone finding out about this at work, anyway: I'm kind of an internet security geek so I always use secure, cookie-free, history-free browsers and cover my tracks. Also, my boss is not the most technical guy in the world: This computer is running like, Windows 2000 or something too, so even if someone tried to set up some kind of sweep or log the computer would probably self-destruct. Thankfully we don't have an IT department, so there's literally a zero chance of discovery. Mwahaha. I can keep being evil and fangirlish at work. Yay my life. :) Thanks for your reviews and support!

**Broken Shift Key:** I'm glad it was believable for you, I tried. Sorry you get migraines too: I so feel your pain. :/ You're right, it is kind of therapeutic. I guess that's why I picked this particular malady with which to torment Jim this story. Thank you so much for your support. Solidarity! Migrainers unite! :)

**spinalcracker**: Doesn't it though? Haha, thank you so very much. :)

**laynee**: Hearts and flowers and butterflies! So happy to hear that. :) Thank you!

**eVeRyThInGbLaCK**: Bah, now I feel like a complete idiot. I totally knew that too, I don't know what was wrong with me when I wrote that. Thanks for the heads up! Haha. Well I've been doing TKD here for a little less than a year, and I practiced when I was younger in California, too. Now I'm almost back to the belt I had then! I love it, best part of my week (other than reading reviews, of course!). :) How about you?

**val313**: Hopefully it freaked you out in a good way. ;) Hahaha. I'm so mean to poor Jim.

**Hikari** **Urania**: -see story at beginning, haha. So sad I didn't get the alert, but I did get your review and I loved it! Thank you so much, you make me happy.

**AquaMage**: Yay, high-five! I love it. Do you practice too?

**LoriJean**: Hah! Wonderful idea. That's the best way to psych someone out too; just be super-nice to them. Maybe I'll make him a cake, bring him cookies. He'll have no idea what I'm up to. X)

Wow, that was a lot of reviews. Did I mention that? Did I mention that they made me oh-so-happy and I read them about a million times? Well I did. So keep reviewing! You are saving me from a miserable office-bound existence!

See you next chapter. :)


	8. A Resting Place

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Chapter Eight: A Resting Place

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In the brief flashes of lucidity he managed to grasp, Jim beheld the familiar white panels of the Enterprise corridors streaking overhead. He was still on a stretcher, he imagined, from the way he was moving. A constant stream of noise hit him from all directions, but mostly it came from his immediate left. It was accompanied by a familiar face sporting a messy shock of dark hair and worried eyes.

_Bones._ Jim tried to smile at his friend, but his body wouldn't have it.

There Bones went again, flapping his mouth without making any noise.

"_Damnit Jim, I'm trying to study here, can't you see that? It may come as a surprise to you but some of us actually have to put a lot of effort into this school thing. I'm barely scraping through these classes as it is."_

"_I'll help you later, Bones! Come on; just a couple of drinks."_

"_I said no and I meant it."_

"_Yeah, well I don't believe you. If you must know, I've looked into the future and although it seems a little fuzzy, I'm certain alcohol is involved."_

"_Too damn bad, kid. You'll have to drag my dead body down to the bar if you're so determined to drink with me."_

_Fine, Bones. But you brought this on yourself."_

A screaming machine blared loudly down at him, and Jim vaguely recognized MedBay. It was hard to see around the cluster of white coats and white masks that bustled around him. The sight of the colorlessness, the sterile smell of antiseptic and rubber gloves all made Jim want to gag. It had been a long time since a hospital had sparked such a deep, overbearing fear in the pit of his gut. That might have had something to do with the fact that he couldn't breathe.

Coughing, he strained to half-lift himself, desperate to take in air to his starving lungs. He could feel blood running down his chin as the medics pushed him back down on the table. He had the feeling that something was seriously wrong but couldn't focus well enough to pinpoint the source. Whatever drugs were in his bloodstream had taken the crippling edge off the worst of his pain, but that was the least of his concerns now. They also made it hard for him to focus, and impossible for him to process any communication from the medical officers swarming around him.

Bones was suddenly beside him, now wearing rubber gloves, and he was trying to push something—a mask—over his nose and mouth.

Jim railed, pushing his friend away. Couldn't he see that he couldn't breathe? Almost at once his arms were pinned by disembodied hands, and that damn mask was there, over his face, blocking his last chance to draw breath.

Jim was on the verge of panic, taking in shallow, rasping breaths, trying to find air around that smothering rubber mask. His heart was pounding so fast he could feel it between his ears. Or maybe that pounding sound was from something else? He couldn't remember.

The last thing he remembered was gentle hand in his hair, stroking absently. His eyes flickered shut and he drifted off.

.

With a shuddering gasp, Jim woke. He had the odd sensation of breaking above water.

He was shirtless, lying on a glaringly white biobed. Tubes and wires ran from various parts of his body to an unnecessarily loud machine situated at his left. He tried to lift himself up on instinct. The landslide of pain that rewarded him for this attempt quickly had him back flat on the bed.

The machine chirped in alarm in response to his soaring heartbeat and Bones darted around the edge of the makeshift curtain thrown up around his bed, obviously in the process of removing his gloves.

"Keep still, Jim." Bones moved faster in that complicated medical maze than any man really should have been able to, and he was there at Jim's side in a millisecond.

Jim tried to speak; tried to ask him what was happening. He was more than a little alarmed to realize that the breathing mask was still securely fastened to his face.

"I know you're disoriented right now but it is extremely important that you keep still." Bones was saying, "You punctured a lung and the tissue is healing but still very fragile."

_Punctured a lung?_ Jim's frown of confusion must have shown past the mask.

McCoy sighed. "Guess you must have gotten knocked around a little more than you thought. It didn't really shift until we moved you and you started thrashing around."

Jim lifted his chin to look down at himself. A long, thick scar ran down the lower half of his chest. Above, a whirring and clicking dermal regenerator was slowly scanning his body, working its way up and down the scar. It said a lot for the lovely black and purple discoloration all over his torso that Jim had just now noticed it. All told, it really didn't look like the worst part of his injuries.

"I had to go in the old-fashioned way." McCoy's voice was tight. "We couldn't risk it."

Now the scar made sense. He was still extremely tired, and he hadn't tried to move anything but his neck yet. Now that he had a look at himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Setting his head back down groggily, Jim lolled towards Bones. The doctor wasn't looking at him, staring instead at the scar on his chest. The regenerator had done its work well—the cut couldn't have been made more than a few hours before, and it already looked years old—but even modern technology could only do so much. Jim had the sneaking suspicion that he might never be completely rid of it.

"Every time I let you out of my sight." Bones sighed heavily, holding himself up on the railing of Jim's bed.

"How long?" Jim mumbled through the mask. It said a lot about the number of times the two had found themselves in this exact position that Bones was able to easily decipher his question.

"Sixteen hours."

Jim blinked. He should have guessed that some time had passed, judging from the heavy bags under Bones' eyes and the wrinkled, stained uniform. But sixteen hours?

Jim was trying to keep his breathing under control. He really was. And having Bones within arm's reach helped immensely. But he knew that he needed to get out of medbay soon before his anxiety exploded.

He hadn't yet tried to move his injured arm, and he didn't plan to. Taking advantage of Bones' distraction, he used his good hand to peel the mask off his face and take a deep, cleansing breath. The stale, concentrated oxygen never worked well for him.

"I need to get out of here, Bones." Jim looked at his friend pleadingly, silently begging him to understand.

"You're insane." Bones scarcely blinked. "You're really, truly insane."

Bones wasn't taking him seriously. This was bad. Jim drew a long, shuddering breath to calm himself. His head was pounding again and his body was on edge, urging him to flee.

"I'm healed up." Jim tried to smile; it came out a nervous wreck of an expression. "It doesn't hurt at all."

"I just hauled your bleeding ass out of a stranded deathtrap infested with bloodthirsty prisoners." Bones scoffed. "There is no way in hell that you are moving from this spot."

Jim's eyes flicked wildly from side-to-side, panic bubbling in his chest as his mind was quickly overwhelmed by flashing lights, white walls, and loud machines. He was too tired, his emotions too threadbare to deal with this uncomfortable place that reminded him too much of other places. Not now.

"Bones," Jim rasped, "I can't stay here. I _can't._"

"You can and you will." McCoy glared dangerously at him. "You move an inch and I'd be well within my rights to let your lung puncture again and watch you drown in your own blood."

Bones turned away; probably just to check a chart or fetch some piece of medical equipment. Jim's overactive mind saw it as a sign that he was leaving. He half-sat up as he lunged for Bones' arm.

"Don't—!"

Bones whipped around with more dexterity than Jim gave him credit for, catching Jim's arm and pressing it firmly back to the bed at his side. "Captain or not," he hissed, leaning close, "you are under my care until I release you and pitching a fit is not going to help you out here. Do you understand?"

Jim swallowed hard, more than a little intimidated by the Doctor's sudden change in temperament. He hadn't seen Bones truly pissed since their academy days.

"I know that you don't give a rat's ass about yourself, I really get that." Bones was seriously angry now. "I know you don't think about the people who have to drag your sorry ass up out of the mud, and I know you'd sit yourself right back down in it if there wasn't someone holding your hand. But _I_ for one care more about keeping you alive than I do about your fragile _mental_ state." Bones growled threateningly, his grip tightening on Jim's arm.

Jim's eyes widened, but he quickly masked the hurt that the words brought. Bones was angry; he always said things he didn't mean when he was angry.

"So you will remain in the bed _exactly_ where you are or I will _make_ you. Got that?"

Jim nodded once, his throat tightening as emotions he was no longer in control of flooded the frayed edges of his mind.

He watched, head throbbing with confusion and hurt as Bones released his arm and stalked away from him. No matter how shocked he was at his friend's sudden flare of temper, he couldn't help but feel the loss of his presence keenly. More than anything in the world, he didn't want to be trapped here, alone in a sterile white hospital bed. Again.

Bones didn't make it four steps before he paused, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "I'm sorry, Jim." He sighed softly. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

"I just wanted you to stay." Jim whispered roughly, his throat aching like mad as he tried to will away feeling. His pride was railing at him now, berating him mercilessly for his pathetic weakness but that part of him that was just tired didn't even care.

Bones looked at him sharply, and the cold mask on the doctors' face melted away as quickly as it had appeared.

"God, Jim." Leonard sighed heavily as he took a seat by the bed. "I'm such an idiot sometimes." He bowed his head to rest his forehead against Jim's shoulder in a distinctly unprofessional manner.

It was a simple gesture, but it opened a floodgate for all the worry, stress, hurt and pain to melt out of Jim in one amazing moment. Bones was here, and Bones wasn't mad at him. He wasn't alone.

"Not your fault." Jim slurred, almost shaking with relief that he hadn't been deprived of Bones' presence. With everything else going on, that was something he couldn't have dealt with. He probably would have made a run for the door.

For now, he could hate this sterile, alien, agonizingly white environment as much as he liked: he knew he could deal with it if he had a familiar presence by his side. And not just any familiar presence: Bones. Bones was here. Sighing softly, Jim couldn't help smiling as his mind released his body into sweet, dark oblivion.

.

"Give it to me straight, Doc." Jim sighed melodramatically, leaning his head back into the pillows. "I can take it."

It had been 28 hours, give or take a few minutes, since he'd escaped the Arabeth, and Jim was once again hellbent on convincing his best friend—his _Doctor, _now—that he was perfectly healed and more than capable of leaving the biobed unattended.

"Oh _can_ you." Bones growled, pulling up a rolling stool. He'd put off explaining the extent of Jim's injuries to him so far—mostly because Jim had been passed out cold for the last 12 hours.

"I swear it."

"Mhm." Bones pulled an old-fashioned wooden pencil out of a messy jar one of the nurses kept at her station and rolled back over to Jim.

"I'm not sure I like where you're headed with that pencil, Bones."

"You wanted it straight."

"Maybe not that straight."

"Pay attention. We'll start with your arm." Bones held the pencil directly in front of his face, looking at Jim as if he were speaking to a six year old.

Jim put on his listening face.

"First, your humerus bone was snapped cleanly in two." Bones snapped the pencil in half to demonstrate. "Then, to compound the break, you allowed yourself to be jostled and prodded and generally thrown about. Like so." He rubbed the two broken ends of the pencil together, creating a terrible crunching sound. "How's that for straight?"

Jim swallowed nausea as he stared at the pencil. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely."

"You're a cruel person."

"I try my best."

Sulu mercifully chose that moment to walk into the medbay. Brushing aside the half-open curtain which Jim had insisted be placed around his bed whenever he was present in medical, he pulled up a chair.

"Hey, hey, hey." Jim pointed at him indignantly. "Privacy policy!"

Sulu looked at Bones. "You have a privacy policy?"

Bones shrugged. "No."

"That's what I thought."

"It's a Captain thing." Jim glared at his friend. "I allow Bones to treat my glorious and sacred self, and in exchange—" He waved his hand at the curtain, "—I get my privacy."

"Kid, you're in a medical establishment." Bones sighed. "There's no such thing."

"You lied to me."

"You'll get over it. I promise."

"_Anyway._" Sulu coughed. "I was going to come and see how you were doing, Captain, but it looks like you're feeling pretty well."

Jim glanced down at himself, a human-shaped object wrapped in bandages and propped up on pillows. "Well my left big toe hurts a little."

"Jesus." Bones muttered as Sulu laughed.

"Tell me about my crew. This dictator over here won't let me up to check on them."

Sulu snorted. "They're all fine, Captain. A few of the medics are pretty shaken up, and Gibbons cut his knuckles tossing up barricades but he's already been treated."

Bones muttered something insulting about the man's lack of masculinity but Jim ignored him.

"What about you? Holding up?"

Sulu gave him a look that was somewhere between incredulity and worry. "I'm fine, Captain. I was locked in corridor the entire time we were captive, aside from about ten minutes I spent hacking at convicts. I didn't even really have a chance to get into trouble."

"Good." Jim grinned. "The prisoners?"

"Secured. Spock is taking care of that; he has them sequestered in holding."

"He gets to have all the fun."

Sulu gave him a sideways look; the kind of look Jim usually got when people couldn't figure out if he was joking.

Jim didn't bother clarifying. It was more fun that way.

"Have you contacted Maraka since we've been back?"

"Ensign Chekov did. They're sending another transport to pick up the prisoners. It should arrive within two hours."

"Cause we've already established how safe that is." Bones mumbled sarcastically from his makeshift workstation by Jim's bed. If Jim hadn't known any better, he could have sworn his friend was sulking.

"We'll ensure that additional precautionary measures are taken to keep the situation aboard the _Arabeth _from repeating itself." Jim sighed. "I'll see to it personally."

Bones mumbled testily, but he couldn't keep Jim in the bed for much longer. He'd already promised him that if he could sit still and allow the Doctor to run tests for one hour, he would let him visit the bridge to check on his crew.

This promise had been made approximately 58 minutes ago, and Bones already regretted it.

Jim was testing the waters now as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. After much complaining, Bones had allowed him to change into a fresh uniform, but any activity beyond that had been strictly forbidden.

"Are you well enough to be up and about?" Sulu eyed him apprehensively, on the edge of his seat as though he expected to have to jump up to catch Jim at any moment.

Jim scowled at him. "Of course I am. Besides, the Doc has already signed off on it. Isn't that right, Bones?"

Bones was muttering again, curses and colorful adjectives just out of earshot, but Jim caught the gist.

Easing up slowly, fighting against the twinge in his still-healing ribs, he let his feet down on the cold white floor and dropped his weight off the bio bed.

That was a mistake.

Jim wasn't even aware that his legs had given out until he was halfway to the floor and two pairs of hands had reached out to stop him from faceplanting.

"Goddamn moron." Bones seethed as he pulled Jim back up onto the bed. "I _warned_ you."

"I'm fine." Jim mumbled, feeling light-headed. "Just been on my butt for too long, you know?"

"Maybe you haven't been on your butt long enough." Sulu suggested, watching Jim carefully.

"Hey, he doesn't need any help." Jim scowled.

"So, staying in bed." Bones crossed his arms and stared down at Jim. "Are you convinced yet?"

"Don't even think about it." Jim glared at him testily. "I'm going up to the bridge to work with my crew and that's final. I'll get some rest if that'll make you happy once those scumbags are off my ship."

He was lying, but Bones didn't have to know that.

"I don't know why I stick around you." Bones griped, keeping a hand on Jim's arm as he tried to stand again. "You make a mockery of everything that I stand for as a Doctor, you know that?"

"You say the sweetest things, Bones."

This time, Jim's legs only wobbled a bit as he took a few exploratory steps around his curtained partition. He tried not to notice how both Bones and Sulu kept their arms partially extended, just waiting for him to take another dive.

"I think my legs are working again." Jim smiled awkwardly, locking his shaking knees. He hated knowing his crew was staring at him, waiting for him to fail. Few things put him on edge more.

"Come on, Sulu." He gestured as he made his way, albeit slowly, towards the turbolift. He didn't bother protesting when Bones invited himself along, eying Jim dangerously.

"Let's see what Spock has done to my ship."

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So, I actually had another three or four chapters worth of plot planned out for this story, but I'm thinking this might be a good place to end it too (after the next chapter). What do you guys think? A short and sweet ending to launch off a new story, or continue with the original plot?

But to answer the most popular question, yes: there will be more stories. :) I'm too hooked. I'd like to develop a series of stories in the same general universe: interrelated, if you will. I'm also itching to do an Academy fic, though I'm not sure when I'll tackle that.

ALSO: I have a LiveJournal now, thanks to some of my lovely reviewers. :) My username is thisdeepblue (my name was already taken, sadly). Be my buddy?

Thank you again for the epic amounts of reviews that magically appeared to make my life happy and joyful. You have only yourselves to thank for these quick updates. :)

I don't actually have time to respond personally to reviews this time around (I'm sorry!) but please know that you are all SO appreciated and loved, and I really do read your reviews about a million times before I post the next chapter. Feel free to message me too; I always respond to messages.

You inspire me. :)


	9. Double Take

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Chapter Nine: Double Take

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After stepping back onto his bridge to a hearty round of applause and too many repeats of "I'm glad you're back, Captain", Jim was able to shake off his clingy nursemaids long enough to get some work done.

First order of business: Get those prisoners off his ship.

Almost before the words could come out of his mouth, Chekov had opened up a line to the _Mira_, another transport ship from Maraka.

"Mira, this is Captain James Kirk of the USS Enterprise." Jim spoke in his best _I'm fine _voice into the line. "I am contacting you to confirm your arrival and ensure your ability to accept and transport seven high-security convicts back to Maraka."

"Enterprise, this is Mira Our ETA is 40 minutes. We have an armored guard squad and high-security holdings on board to deal with the prisoners." The crisp, professional voice came back.

"I'm sure you can handle it, but you will forgive me if we take some extra precautionary measures." Jim smiled wryly. "It's been one of those days."

"Understood, Captain."

_I doubt it._

Jim cut the line and limped over to stand by Chekov's console. He dropped a hand onto the young man's shoulder. "How're we holding up, Ensign?"

"All syeestems are operating smoothly, kepten." Chekov's smile was a little strained. Jim knew the stressful situation that had been on his shoulders not hours before had taken its toll on him.

"Good work." Jim sighed. "That's what I needed to hear. Why don't you let Lt. Greeling relieve you? Looks like you could use some rest."

"I do not require rest, kepten." Chekov looked a little alarmed at the idea.

Jim thought about arguing with him. Thought about pulling his _I'm the Captain here, sir _routine, but suddenly realized that maybe his crew needed to see this thing through just as much as he did. He hadn't been the only one walking on glass throughout this whole ordeal.

"Alright." Jim nodded slowly. "I guess you can stick this one out. But once those bastards are off my ship I don't want to see you on the bridge for at least two shifts. Understood?"

Pavlov looked relieved, and smiled widely at his Captain.

"Where is he?" A familiar voice, tight with stress, cut across the bridge as the turbolift opened. Jim scarcely had time to turn around before he was being pulled into a quick, surprisingly strong hug.

"Missed you too." He grinned at his attractive communications officer, trying to pretend that the sudden flurry of motion wasn't making his head spin.

"Stop it." Uhura hit him in the shoulder; Jim couldn't help noticing that her jab was softer than usual. "Are you alright? Are you even allowed out of sick bay?"

"Doctor's orders." Jim raised two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. "I'm fit as a fiddle."

"I doubt that." Uhura scoffed, but he heard the relief in her voice as she gave him a once over, as though his lies would be pinned on his sleeve. She'd been in holdings assisting Spock, he'd been told, but to be quite honest he was glad to have her back on the bridge. Right now, he needed someone around who wasn't fawning over him like he was about to fall over or run away. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt awkward about all of this unnecessary attention. Not that he would have minded if he'd just returned a victorious hero and his crew was showering him with worshipful glances and words of praise: but he'd just gotten his _ass _handed to him, and they were hovering over him because they were waiting for him to break.

As much as he tried to pretend otherwise, that stung.

Bones, whose attention had been mercifully diverted as he made an impromptu examination of one of the ensigns who looked suspiciously caught between a bad head-cold and dead-out drunk, returned to Jim's side before he had a chance to escape off to some other corner of the ship.

"Holding up?" He asked Jim, quite unnecessarily.

"Yes, mother." Jim discreetly lowered his hand from where it had been pressed against his aching ribs.

"I saw that."

Jim tried to look innocent.

Sulu, who had been sidetracked from his self-imposed babysitting task to get on the comm with one of the engineers, returned to Jim's side a moment later. "Commander Spock heard that you were up and about." The pilot informed him. "He would like to know if you are feeling capable of meeting with him."

_Not really._

Jim nodded.

"You're not walking down to the hold." Bones' proffered 'suggestion' came out as more of a threat, but for once, Jim was perfectly ready to agree with him.

"Let him know I'll see him in my ready room." He sighed to Sulu.

"A word, Jim?"

Jim glared at his best friend. Bones glared back.

Jim liked to pretend that he had some say in the matter as he was herded into his ready room by a doctor who saw too damn much.

Sulu decided that he had more interesting things to do, and wisely lingered outside as the doors glided shut.

"That's it." Leonard growled as Jim stumbled on thin air. "Sit."

Jim sank heavily into the nearest chair, half-heartedly shrugging off Bones' supportive hand.

"I'm not made of glass, Bones." He sighed into the cool white table as he dropped his forehead onto it. Bones knelt in front of him.

"Could've fooled me." The Doctor had produced a tricorder from out of thin air and was carefully scanning Jim's ribs. Jim had no idea what the beeping and whirring sounds really meant, but he sincerely hoped that nothing had snapped, crackled or popped since he'd left Medical. If it had, then he was done for. He was getting a one-way ticket back to sick bay and no amount of kicking or screaming would save him.

And at the moment, although he'd felt perfectly fine only an hour before, he wasn't even sure if he had the energy to fight. He allowed himself to daydream about a cool, dark hole of a bed and how blissful it would be to crawl into it for a few days. How his throbbing head had stuck around through four days and a surgery or two was incomprehensible to him.

Bones was griping about something as his fingers moved over the tricorder, but Jim had conveniently spaced out. "What?" He slurred, wincing inwardly at the sound.

"I said you're a damn idiot."

"C'mon, Bones. You said that the first time you saw me."

"Second time."

"Like you remember the first time, anyway."

"Actually, I do. Maybe because you take so much pleasure in recounting it every chance you get."

"At least you didn't throw up."

"Well thank heaven for little mercies." Bones was back at him with the tricorder, and once again Jim was left marveling at exactly how much energy had leeched out of his body between Sick Bay and the Bridge. It wasn't even a very long walk.

"Why'm I s'tired?" Jim couldn't believe he'd said it out loud, and judging by the look he gave him, neither could McCoy.

"You just spent two days in a biobed getting your innards sewn back together." Bones scowled. "I'm just an ignorant M.D., you know, but that's my best guess."

Jim waved him off, but his friend wasn't done.

"And maybe you spent the two days before that getting those same innards ripped apart." There was a dark undertone to Bones' voice; one that Jim knew well. He'd heard it altogether too many times before.

"Stop." Jim dropped a too-heavy hand to rest on the back of McCoy's neck, stopping him in his tracks. "You know none of this was your fault, right?"

"Of course I do, you moron." Bones' scowl deepened, and he moved as if to knock Jim's hand away. He didn't. "You're the one who's always flushing yourself down the universal toilet. None of my business."

"Nothing you could do." Jim's forehead was resting on Bones' supporting arm now; he wasn't sure when his eyes had drifted closed, but damn if the darkness wasn't comfortable.

"Hey. Stay awake, Jimmy." McCoy's cool hand slapped his cheek gently.

Jim pried his eyes open to meet his best friend's gaze, too tried to gripe at the detested nickname. He tried to smile, and failed miserably. No matter how tough Bones acted, Jim saw right through him. He was angry at himself, and taking it out on Jim because _damn_ he was afraid of losing him.

Bone' cold exterior caved just a little. "I should have been there." He muttered. That angry spark returned to his eyes.

"Nope." Jim smiled. "Then I would have had to patch _you_ up."

"Yeah yeah. And you can't sew worth a damn."

"That's right."

"Well, I'm here now." It sounded like the words were meant more for McCoy's own comfort than for Jim's. "And you're not putting another scratch on yourself. Got it?"

"Aye, aye." Jim tried to stand. A strong hand planted him firmly back in the chair.

"I thought you said you got it."

Jim glared at him. "I do. No more gallivanting about with escaped convicts. Now let me up."

"What I meant, was no exertion of any kind. But you knew that."

"Bones, I get it. You're a doctor. You've got to take care of people and all that." Jim's exhaustion and stress were toeing the line towards irritability now. "But I'm the Captain of this ship, and I have a job to do."

"Cut the bullshit, Jim." McCoy snapped, almost viciously. "Like I've never heard that routine before."

"Sorry to trouble you with the truth."

"The truth is I just finished sewing you back up, Jim!" Bones' voice was rising. Jim was suddenly very thankful for the soundproof doors. "This might not mean anything to you, but I've put a _damn_lot of effort into keeping you alive this week and I'm not going to let you spit on that."

"Well maybe you should just stop trying." Jim bit out. "I'm obviously not a very appreciative person."

"_Fuck_ your pride, Jim." Bones hissed, leaning forward. "Maybe it's time you started giving a shit about the people who give a shit about you."

Startled, Jim blinked at Bones. He'd underestimated just how angry his friend was.

"I don't know why you're freaking out about this Bones—"

"Oh yes you do."

"I don't have to put up with this." Jim growled. He tried not to notice how his limbs were shaking as he tried to push Bones away; tried to give himself enough room to stand.

Jaw clenched, Bones pushed away, body tight with tension and anger as he stalked across the room.

Jim didn't know what to say; what to do. He was used to a pissed-off, fire-blooded, sharp-tongued Bones. He was used to laughing and grinning while his friend blew off steam by behaving like a porcupine with a temper. But this was something different. Bones was angry, and Jim was starting to get the feeling that this fact had to do with a lot more than Jim being stubborn.

Bones clenched and unclenched his fists, half-pacing. Several times it looked like he was about to launch off on Jim again, but he kept stopping himself.

Feeling more than a little stung, Jim pushed back.

"Why don't you just say it, _Doctor McCoy_?" His voice was full of a bitterness he could no longer conceal. "You obviously have something on your mind. Get it out."

Bones made a noise that was somewhere between a frustrated yell and a growl. "Goddamnittall!"

Jim was at a complete loss. He was having the oddest sense of dejavu at the moment, his mind flying back two years to a particularly dark night at the academy that smelled like whiskey and tears and felt like the heart-wrenching kind of pain that men have a hard time sharing with one another at the best of times. It was almost certainly a night that had been a defining moment in their friendship: but what had made it could have just as easily have broken it.

Jim laughed awkwardly, trying to stand straight. "Look, if you don't want to be here—"

"I _didn't_ want to be here, remember? I didn't want a post on some god-forsaken federation ship trolling the deepest regions of nowhere. _You_ dragged me here, Jim."

_Damn _Bones was pissed.

"I'll put in a transfer request for you immediately." Jim retorted icily, and why the hell was his head throbbing so badly again? "Maybe we can find you a nice, quiet little post on a moon somewhere. No more 'complete morons' screwing with your daily schedule."

"You don't get it, you never have." Bones whirled to face him. "The day I met you I signed my life away to following you around with a tricorder stuffing your guts back into your body every time they fall out." If Bones saw how his words were impacting Jim, he chose not to notice. "I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to see all those goddamn hairline fractures all over your body, and I didn't choose to read your medical history to find out why the hell you don't sleep. I didn't ask to hear all about your shitty childhood and your shitty family."

Jim recoiled, feeling like he'd been punched in the chest. He tried to remember how to breathe but there was something lodged in his throat and it was screaming at him to turn tail and just _run_ before he snapped. He stared at his friend—no, this was only his colleague—and felt the barriers falling back into place.

"You don't know how to handle relationships of even the most trivial kind." Bones raged. "You don't know how to care about people; you don't know how to be a goddamn _adult_."

Jim breathed in deeply, his mind screaming at him to escape the situation by whatever means necessary. _This is a really bad time for this I can't handle this right now please shut up goddamnit SHUT UP._

The ringing in his ears was, suddenly, mercifully, blocking out the angry voice that was determined to dredge up all of his deepest fears and insecurities and pile them on his shoulders until he was driven straight into the ground. He tried to focus; tried to call upon some of that steel resolve and unshakable strength that had been so invaluable to him as a child.

_I don't need this._

He felt like screaming.

He couldn't move.

The shrill wailing of a communicator cut through both Jim's self-loathing haze and Bones' voice. The sound startled him enough to kick-start his lungs into working again, and he drew in a long, shaky breath.

"Yeah. I'll be right down." Bones was snapping into his communicator. He paused a moment, as if he meant to continue his tirade.

Jim braced himself.

Without another word, Bones clipped his communicator back onto his belt and stalked out of the room.

There was a bathroom at the other end of the ready room. Jim made it to the toilet before getting sick.

He may or may not have blacked out for a few minutes. He really couldn't be sure. All he knew was that, at some point, he became aware of an incessant rapping sound somewhere above him. He didn't remember closing the door, but he must have. Sluggishly, he pulled himself to his feet. He had to prop himself up against the doorframe, but he managed to slide the door open.

Spock stood there, one hand raised mid-knock. "Captain, are you well?" The Vulcan's eyebrows drew together in the faintest suggestion of a frown.

Jim nodded wearily, pulling one hand through his hair and down his face. He distantly wondered if he was dreaming.

"Were you ill?" Spock reached out a helping hand; it was a friendly gesture.

Jim wasn't seeing anything as a friendly gesture right now.

"Don't touch me." He jerked back, unable to sort through his haywire emotions. On top of everything else that had happened over the past few days, he wasn't sure he could make it through another impromptu mind-meld with the Vulcan without going off the deep end. More than anything, he didn't want anyone touching him.

Spock stepped back respectfully, but still watched Jim in that frustrating way; a way that suggested he was still just waiting for him to fall.

It seemed like that's what everyone was waiting for, these days.

"I'm sorry." Jim grasped for his self-respect. "Kind of on edge."

"The sentiment seems logical."

"You needed to speak with me?" Jim hedged awkwardly. _Change the subject._ _Get your mind off it._

"I had some queries regarding the prisoner situation, but I do believe that I have the parameters suitably accounted for."

"Oh. Good." Jim still felt like he was a long way away from his first officer.

"May I suggest that you take the rest of the shift off?" Spock seemed a little hesitant to say it. "I am more than capable of supervising the crew in your absence, and some rest would do you well."

Jim waved a hand at him, straightening. "I'm ok, Spock. I need to see this through."

Spock did not have time to raise further protest. The door to the ready room slid open to reveal one very flustered looking Chief Engineer.

"Captain." Scotty was breathless and shaken. "You gotta come down to the holding deck. We may have a problem."

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Yay reviews!

Obviously, I chose to finish up with the original plot. You have at least another chapter or two heading your way, my gluttonous readers. ;)

(Also, Bones is not really an ass. I love him too much to make him an ass. All will be well in the end, I promise!)

To answer the most frequently asked question: Yes, there will be another story. I do believe it will be an academy fic. I'd like to be able to go back and explain a lot of the little quirks and anecdotes surrounding Bones and Jim's friendship.

Again, I don't have time for a lot of review answers (still at work!) but I am oh so grateful for them. Thank you for your kind words. You make me squee. :) :)

**Spinalcracker**: How can I say no to milkshakes and biscuits? It's a deal. :3

Also, I'll be taking prompts for more stories to continue the series at the end of this fic. I thought I would give you all a heads up so you can put your thinking caps on. :)

Hope you enjoy!


	10. Point of No Return

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Chapter Ten: Point of No Return

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Bones was not a violent man. Not by a long shot.

In fact, there were only two people in the entire universe who could claim the ability to move him to violence. Thanks to some serious counseling and a bit of quality time with alcohol, his ex-wife had long ago relinquished her right to be one of them.

So now the first was James Tiberius Kirk, that goddamn hot-headed, genius-level, accident-prone Captain who made a daily habit of leaping before he looked. His best friend.

Also included on that list was anyone in the past, present, or future that dared to lay a finger on the former.

Sadly, that list had been too long when Bones met Jim, and it was still growing.

So what could you do when you were a non-violent man moved to violence by both of the two things in your life that had the power to completely undo you?

Bones was still trying to figure that out.

_If he ever forgives me for what I just said to him, I'm never letting him off this ship again. Hell, I'm not letting him off the bridge. He can run his damn precious ship from a bubble._

Seeing red as he stormed down the corridors, Bones was glad that the few crew members he passed gave him a wide berth. He couldn't be held responsible for ripping off an unsuspecting crewman's head at this point.

"What's so damn important that it couldn't wait?" He growled as he stepped into the holding area where the prisoners had been secured. "Is his arm falling off?"

"I don't know, sir." One of the younger security officers—Jones. Jensen? Jenkins? Something.—looked pale. "He started convulsing a few minutes ago. We didn't know what to do."

Bones looked unsympathetically down at one of the burlier convicts who lay curled in a heap on the floor of one of the holding cells. He seemed unresponsive.

Bones entertained the idea of leaving him there. After what these bastards had done to Jim, they deserved it as far as Bones was concerned. On the other hand, he would probably have to answer to Marakan prison officials if one of their prisoners died while in Federation custody.

"Have you tried rousing him?" McCoy reluctantly entered his medical override code and watched the translucent blue field disappear from the entryway.

"Not physically." The security officer had his phaser ready, but remained a safe distance from the holding cell. Scotty and another security officer lingered in the doorway, no doubt attracted by the commotion.

_Cowards._

Bones knelt by the prisoner and gently rolled him over onto his back. He couldn't help but grimace a little at the sight of a long, thick scar that stretched across the man's face from chin to hairline. It was the kind of wound that had probably never seen a dermal regenerator and maybe that was on purpose, because it made him look damn _mean_.

Bones glared at a spot on the floor as he systematically checked the man's pulse. Half of his mind was still two decks up, verbally pounding some sense into the biggest trouble-magnet this side of the Laurentian system.

Mostly, he needed to keep himself riled up. He needed to find that same glass-pissing anger he'd felt not ten minutes before, because if he lost it, he'd start to feel guilty. Really guilty.

Hell, he was already feeling guilty.

His hope now was that a little of what he'd said—ranted, yelled—could sink into Jim's thick skull before Bones' internal guilt meter reached critical "blubbering apology" status.

He wasn't going to let it slide, this time. That much he'd already decided. He wasn't going to hole up in medical and run tests and hand out Band-Aids until he got another transmission telling him his best friend was on the brink of death again and if he had a moment, wouldn't he please come up and make the problem go away?

Not anymore. Jim was going to get it through his head this time that the ones who suffered the most when he was bleeding out on the floor were all the people around him: his crew. His friends. Bones.

Without his consent, his mind supplied in heart-wrenching detail the too-fresh image of Jim's boneless form sprawled out on the floor of that dark corridor on the Arabeth, surrounded by armed convicts and a groaning ship on the verge of self-destruction. His eyes closed. His clothes soaked in blood. The doctor had thought his heart was about to stop when he saw him. Scotty had found a way to reverse engineer the jammer Jim had designed (damn that kid was smart when he wanted to be), but Bones had felt instinctively that it was too late.

And it almost was.

McCoy's fingers clenched, and he had to take a moment to breathe.

Maybe if he'd been concentrating a little more on the task at hand he wouldn't have been caught off guard when the convict's brown eyes snapped open and a large hand closed around the Doctor's throat.

.

"Release him." Jim's throat constricted a little as he stared into the eyes of the man who had been torturing him not days prior. Now, the bastard had his arm locked tight around Bone's throat, his arm twisted behind his back.

Spock stood close at his shoulder, looking deceptively relaxed as he watched and waited for the escapee to make a wrong move. Thank goodness someone was on the ball today.

"Well haven't you healed up nicely." Ahmrak grinned devilishly from behind Bone's shoulder. "How's the hand, Captain?"

Jim's left hand flexed automatically; he could still feel the pull of new flesh and remember the sting of tortured nerve endings. Thankfully, the wound had been fully treated by the time he'd woken up. Bones knew he didn't handle immobility well.

Speaking of.

Jim's eyes flickered hesitantly, meeting McCoy's eyes for only a fraction of an instant. The Doctor looked even angrier than he had been earlier, which was expected considering he was being held hostage by a maddened psychopath. But he wouldn't meet Jim's eyes; wouldn't acknowledge anything that had passed between them less than an hour before. It made Jim's stomach clench.

The truth was, he was never really sure how to act after a fight with Bones. He could never tell if he needed to give him his space, confront him on the subject, or simply pack up and move on. Half of him truly believed the day would come when Bones would want him to do just that: Jim just hoped that day was not today.

It really didn't help that now he had to figure out what to do to get his friend out of a potentially life-threatening situation.

"I take it you want my ship? You're getting a little redundant." Jim swallowed his uneasiness, trying not to let his mind and body remember everything this man had put him through because fear was really not going to help him out here.

"I knew you were the smart one." Ahmrak grinned. "My demands are really quite simple. All I want is for you to release my men, sequester yourselves in the same holding deck where you so thoughtlessly restrained them, and hand over the bridge." The convict's muscled arm tightened around Bones' throat; the doctor made a noise of pain. "And in return, I won't break your Chief Medical Officer's neck."

Jim clenched his jaw painfully.

_"You don't know how to care about people; you don't know how to be a goddamn adult."_

Jim mind raced; he tried desperately to come up with a way to prove Bones wrong; to prove he could be a Captain and an adult and prove that he would give his life for his crew.

The problem was, he wasn't really seeing a scenario where somebody didn't get hurt. Maybe he could make sure that the someone getting hurt wasn't anyone he cared about. Meaning, everyone on his ship except himself.

"Very well." Jim nodded, swallowing. "My first officer will see to the preparations. I ask only that you take me as your hostage instead of my Medical Officer."

"Jim!" Bones growled.

"A glutton for pain, are we?" Ahmrak laughed. "The thing is, that after what you pulled back on my ship I'm not sure if I can trust you anymore, _Captain._"

"You think me untrustworthy because I did everything in my power to ensure my _crew's_ safety?" Jim bit out. "They are my primary concern. I will willingly become your hostage if it will place them out of harm's way."

"Goddamn it Jim, don't—!"

Jim had to resist the urge to rush the convict when he tightened his grip again, effectively choking Bones' protests.

"And once we've made the trade, you'll hand over your ship?"

Jim nodded.

_Like hell I will._

"Well then, you can start by handing over your weapon, Captain: and have your men drop theirs."

Chest tight, Jim did as he was told. He tried not to let his dismay show as Ahmrak's grip tightened around Jim's phaser, effectively making him five times the threat he had been moments before.

As he stepped back, away from Ahmrak, towards Spock and the rest of his crew (the incident had drawn an even larger crowd, why didn't they just get out of there?), he dropped his hand to his side. He stepped back discreetly and let his fingers brush against Spock's for the briefest of moments.

He wasn't sure how the whole Vulcan mind-meld thing worked, but if the startled glance he caught from the Vulcan out of the corner of his eye was any indication, his first officer had caught his gist.

_Keep them safe._ He willed.

"_Now_, let him go." Jim tried to sound authoritative as he stared down the man he was quickly learning to hate. It was funny how he could stare death unflinchingly in the eye when it was his ass on the line: When it was Bones', he was thoroughly terrified.

_There's a very good chance I could die today. _He thought to himself distantly as Ahmrak pushed Bones away. The Doctor stumbled, gagging, but Jim walked towards the convict to take his place before his friend could stop him.

That is, if he still wanted to.

Jim waited until Ahmrak's strong grip closed around his arm. Waited until he felt the phaser press against his lower back.

He locked eyes with Bones, smiling inwardly at the familiar, furious look on his face. He hoped he would see it again.

_No turning back._

Jim took a deep breath, turned, and swung.

He felt the familiar burn in his side that he _expected_, but was still enough to take the breath right out of his lungs.

Thank god for adrenaline.

He grappled Ahmrak to the ground, noise roaring in his ears. Anger, fear, and hyper-active nerves gave him super-human strength because he could not, _would_ not let this man win. He would not hand over his ship. He knew he was bleeding, could feel the unnatural warmth in his side; the pull of damaged tendons and torn flesh. He remembered being bound, powerless, while this man tortured him. And he couldn't stop himself. His fist came down, again and again.

But then Bones was there, and Spock was there, and Scotty—and it seemed like his whole crew was there at his side, pulling Ahmrak away, the phaser sliding out of reach.

"It's ok Jim, It's ok."

Jim was being pulled back tight against a warm chest and he was still fighting and ranting, because all he could see were those dark, sneering eyes that were hell-bent on taking his ship and his crew and making him hurt—

A soft hiss sounded in his ear, and he jerked wildly as he felt some sort of drug enter his blood stream.

"Shh." Bones' voice was in his ear; he recognized it now. Bones was ok. "Stop fighting. It's ok." The voice mumbled, "It's gonna be ok."

And Jim's eyes slipped shut, because it was. It was going to be ok.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Wha? Another chapter that ends with Jim passing out? Yeah. I'm so mean. So there will be one or two more chapters, depending on how wordy I feel. :] Probably two, because I don't like the idea of having only eleven chapters. OCD, yes.

Keep those reviews coming! They make me so happy. 3

**Romanse**: Thank you so much! And yes, I was very confused about Chekov/Uhura's duties on board the ship. It's been years since I've watched the original story: I only had Chekov do most of the communicating, etc. because I wanted him to have more of the lime light as a character and because he was in charge of the ship during a crisis. Figured he needed a little screen time. :) I promise I'll sort it out in future stories!

**Krishnaa**: Thank you again, so glad you're enjoying it. Fear not, there will be no slash in my stories! Not my cup o' tea.

**Coltdancer**: So much love for your reviews. They make me all warm and fuzzy inside. And then to get three in a row? Well it just doesn't get any better than that. :3 As you can see, I have continued on with the original plot, with two more chapters on the way to tie up all those loose ends.

**LyradanaGreetsTheWind**: Your wish is my command: two more chapters to come! So glad you're sticking around. :)

**Elfsong**: It's true, poor Jim tries so hard but he just ends up making people miserable when he's miserable! Maybe someday he'll learn. Thanks for reading!

**Spinalcracker**: Hurray! I'll have to come up with some more stories, quick!

**Zhen123**: Bah, thank you so much! I hope to continue to entertain you with this story and others for as long as you'll keep reading. :)

**Dustykingdom**: Ah, thank you! Fear not, I have another story in the works. I hope you'll read that one, too! No, this isn't my first circus, lol. I used to write lots and lots of LotR fanfiction. About seven years ago. :P This is my first ST fic, however, and my first since I passed age 20 haha. Thank you so much for reading!

**Moviesaremagic**: Thanks! I like writing argument scenes for some reason; they're so angsty and emotional. :3 I'm so mean, hahaha.

**Sublime** **Rubbish**: Yay, so happy you like it. Thank you! I'm definitely planning for Spock to be a much bigger part of Jim's life and develop into a good friend in later stories. I guess that means you'll have to stick around and keep reading. ;)

**Squigglytext**: Fear not, Jim and Bones will kiss and make up! (figuratively speaking only, lol). I just needed to throw a little conflict in there at the worst possible moment to spice things up. ;) Thank you so much, and I hope you keep reading!

**Lynaeve**: Absolutely, many more stories to come! If all goes well, that is. :) I hope you'll stick around and keep reading; thank you so much for your support!

**Val1313**: Thank you! And yes, I had to throw in a little emotional angst there. ;) Gotta have it! Thank you for continuing to read and review; I hope you'll stick around for the next story!

**TipsyTippyToes**: Well that's what I'm here for. :3 Thank you for all your awesome reviews through the story so far, I hope you'll stick around for the next one!

**Shameless** **Spocker**" 3 Thank you so much, I'm so glad you're enjoying it that much. The Academy fic is next! Hopefully you shouldn't have to wait too long after the end of this story to see it. :)

Love you all!


	11. Between Moments

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Chapter Eleven: Between Moments

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Bones looked exhausted.

This was possibly the first fully comprehensible thought that formed in Jim's mind after he woke up—for the umpteenth time that week—in the dimmed white lights and electronic white noise of sick bay.

Doctor McCoy was slumped sideways in an uncomfortable-looking chair beside Jim's bed, his head and neck hanging at an angle that promised cramps when the unfortunate doctor awoke. Deep shadows hung beneath his eyes—he probably had only just managed to drift off to sleep, and who knew how long Kirk had been out this time.

Content for once to lie quite still, cocooned in disproportionate comfort considering his location, Jim traced the lines of the ceiling with his eyes. He felt tired as hell, but not yet in pain. This was obviously because he hadn't yet tried to move a muscle, and for once he was in no hurry to make the attempt. He remembered noise and lights and pain and did not care to revisit any of those things at the moment.

But he was a Federation Captain now—not some delinquent Iowa farmboy, which meant that he probably should.

He slowly turned his head to watch the clean white line that traced the rhythm of his heartbeat bounce up and down on the screen by his head. His eyes were still not willing to focus correctly, so it took him a moment to translate the tiny electronic display that showed the current stardate.

He winced inwardly. At least this time, he had only been out for one day.

_At least I'm still alive._ He reminded himself. The last time he'd been alert enough for conscious thought, he had been pretty sure he wouldn't be again.

"Are you in pain, Captain?"

Jim was proud that he didn't jump at the soft but unexpected voice—though maybe this was simply because his body was too tired to do so.

He shook his head just slightly. "Not at all." He tried to smile at his first officer; found the pull of unused muscles too exhausting.

Spock stepped closer, his uniform once more in pristine condition and his hands clasped behind his back. It said a lot about Bones' state of being that he didn't even stir.

"I am relieved to hear it." Spock nodded, his dark eyes flickering over Jim's body as if to ensure that he was telling the truth. "I look forward to your return to the bridge. I know the crew is anxious to see you make a full recovery."

"Didn't know you cared." Jim did manage to smile this time.

The Vulcan gave him an eyebrow. Jim chose not to address it.

"The prisoners?" He let his eyes slide closed, keeping his voice as soft as possible. He had more than one reason for not wanting Bones to wake up just yet.

"They have been sedated and removed from the ship. They will be unable to trouble us any longer."

Jim sighed heavily. He trusted Spock of course: trusted his crew, but he had needed some final word of closure. He had needed to be sure.

"What remained of the crew of the Arabeth was recovered successfully and the ship itself was taken in to Maraka for disposal procedures." Spock went on, voice low out of respect for the sleep-deprived doctor. "I have compiled an incident report as acting Captain. After contacting Starfleet and informing them of your condition, they have agreed to let you sign off on my statement until you are fully recovered. At this time a video conference will suffice to complete your personal report."

Less paperwork. Maybe Spock wasn't all bad, after all.

"Thanks." Jim wasn't really surprised; the Vulcan was nothing if not efficient.

"May I make an inquiry, Captain?" Spock suggested after a moment of stillness.

Jim nodded, still letting the tension seep out of his veins and muscles like poison.

"Yesterday you attacked the convict that attempted to take the ship with a specific result in mind."

This conversation. Brilliant.

"Thought I'd give a little of that Vulcan logic a test drive." Jim swallowed.

"Logic dictates an unyielding course of action in a conflict?" Spock frowned. "This is not Vulcan logic, Captain."

"Sarcasm, Spock. It's a human thing."

Spock paused, eyebrows knitted in the closest expression he had to confusion. "If I may, I could not help but infer that your actions were greatly influenced by a certain Medical Officer in your confidence." His eyes flickered down to said medical officer, ensuring that he was still asleep.

Jim clenched his jaw. "So every time I shake your hand am I going to have to make an official order to keep you from barging into my personal life?" It came out sharper than he had intended.

"You were broadcasting, Captain." Spock didn't seem willing to back down, either. "I am simply led to wonder how the Doctor would react if he were to discover your suicidal tendencies were impacted by his words to you."

"I wasn't being suicidal." That stress was creeping back. "I was trying to make the right decision for my crew and my ship."

Spock's chin dropped as he looked down in a brief gesture that almost seemed born of frustration. "Captain. I have reason to believe that losing you would not be right for this crew or for this ship."

That gave Jim a moment's pause. He had a moment's flash of insight and wondered, just possibly, if everyone around him were repeatedly telling him the same thing then perhaps they were right. At least partially right.

"I did not come here to berate you for your actions." Spock breathed out. "Particularly considering the fact that they were commendably enacted to ensure the protection of those under your command."

Jim sighed. "Then why did you come here, commander?"

"To confirm your well-being."

Jim couldn't help the soft scoff. "Well as you can see, I'm I tip-top shape. I'll be back to duty in no time."

"You were shot, Captain. I would scarcely call that 'tip-top shape'."

"I was?" Jim frowned, craning his neck to look down at his torso. He was almost surprised to see a thick layer of clean white bandages wrapped around his abdomen.

"Temporary memory loss is not an uncommon side effect of physical trauma." Spock supplied helpfully. "I am sure your memories of the incident will return to you shortly."

"I know." Jim let his head drop back onto the pillow.

Spock didn't look surprised to hear that. Considering all that he knew about Jim's past now, why should he be?

The very thought made Jim's blood boil once more. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid. He'd always known his memories would come back to haunt him, no matter how far in the past they were. He just didn't think the dagger in his back would come from his first officer.

"Can we just… forget about this, please?" Jim rubbed his temples with one bandaged arm. He knew he sounded childish, but he really, _desperately_ needed some time to sort all of this out. He was still very tempted to just pretend all of it had been a bad dream; it had never happened and he never needed to address it again.

Spock's expression was uncharacteristically soft. "Of course, Captain." His response surprised Jim. "We need not address the matter at present."

There it was, the _now._ The loophole, the way out, the caveat.

_How about never?_

"I can see that I am tiring you." Spock didn't sound very apologetic. "I will return in time for an update on your progress."

Jim said nothing as Spock quietly left the room, still ranting in his mind.

_Check on my progress? Because I'm a test subject in a lab, just "making progress"—_

"What was that all about?"

Jim looked over to see a familiar frown, brown eyes fixed keenly on his.

"Shit." Jim hissed in exasperation, screwing his eyes shut. "I thought you were asleep."

"Please. I was awake the second you started yapping, you loudmouth."

"I have no luck today."

"Since when did you ever." Bones muttered, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"I don't know. I was sometime before I met you, for sure."

"You gonna avoid the question, or what?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I think I will."

"Funny, I think it's time to give you another sedative…" Jim didn't miss the threat as Bones stood to reach for a hypo.

"Stop." He held up a hand imploringly. "It was nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing."

"I thought you didn't care." Jim's chuckle was empty and echoed of hurt.

"Hey." Bones pulled his chair up close to Jim's bed. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I don't know what you meant." Jim felt bone-tired. "I don't know what _I_ meant. I don't really have a clue, actually: but you already knew that."

Bones sighed heavily, dropping his head into his hands just long enough to pull his fingers through his messy hair, making it stand on end even more.

"Jim. After the things we've said to one-another… hell, after we've beaten the living _shit_ out of each other… how can you think the day would come when I wouldn't care?"

Jim tried to smile, tired to laugh. It came out like a strangled gasp. "I don't know, Bones. Guess I've got confidence issues or something."

"Damn straight." Bones wasn't being subtle now, wasn't being uncomfortable. He reached out and grasped Jim's hand hard, and it was maybe the best feeling Jim had ever had.

He tired to squeeze back and found he still wasn't feeling very strong.

"Let's not talk about it, right?" He suggested, brows creasing in effort. "Let's just—"

"Jim." Bones stopped him with a word. "You might be willing to forget about all of this with a smile, but I'm not going to let myself off that easy. What I said to you—what I did to our friendship by losing my temper—it was _wrong_."

"No, Bones, just don't—"

"Just listen." Bones breathed out harshly. "Goddamn it, you _know_ I'm not good at this."

Jim was silent, because he did know, and he really wasn't sure what Bones had to say and part of him was hopeful and part of him was freaking out and really didn't want to hear this.

"I heard what Spock said."

_Great._

"Really?" Jim tried to ignore the words; Bones would not be so easily put off.

"Yes. And I really deserved that. But I meant everything I said to you."

Jim's heart sank in familiar disappointment and he nodded. "Yeah, Bones." He tried to smile and failed. "I know."

"That's not—look, I meant it, but it was wrong to say it. Hell, half of it wasn't even really true. Especially that—I mean, you do care about people. You care about everyone around you, a whole hell of a lot more than you should."

Well now _that_ was confusing.

"I'm confusing you."

Jim breathed shakily. "That obvious?"

"Yeah."

"I get it. You're mad because I got hurt again, Bones—"

"Not finished." Bones shushed him like a little kid. "And I'm going to break it down for you, real simple."

"The last time you did that, you murdered a pencil."

"They're outdated anyway."

"But—"

"Shut up, Jim. What I'm trying to say is: you know how you always throw yourself into stupid situations because you don't want other people getting hurt, right? Because it hurts less for _you_ to hurt than to see any of us hurt?"

Jim swallowed awkwardly. "I guess you could say that."

"Right. Now imagine that every single time, it was me that got hurt." Bones clasped the front of his uniform earnestly. "Every time, it was _me_. And you were fine, but you had to see that."

Jim was starting to understand McCoy's point, and looked away. "Bones—"

"No. Listen to me. That's how it is for me, do you get it? Every time, I have to look at you while you're hurt, and there's nothing at all I can do about it."

"I do get it Bones." Jim fake-smiled up at the ceiling.

"Do you? Because I'm thinking that you don't."

"But if there were something you could have done to stop _me _from getting hurt, wouldn't you have done it?" Jim was still staring down the ceiling panels.

"You know I would."

"And that's how it is for me. I can't do nothing and watch it happen... Even if it hurts me. I'm the captain of a Federation Starship and over four-hundred crew members, Bones."

"Jim—"

"I can't do _nothing_." Jim repeated, smiling. He finally glanced over to meet the doctor's eyes "It's not in my job description."

Bones huffed. "Yeah, you've made that abundantly obvious." He hadn't released Jim's hand, and looked down at it regretfully. "So can we just make a deal, here?"

Jim grinned. "I'm not agreeing to hourly check-ups. Or being wrapped up in bubble-wrap. Or rounding all the sharp edges on the ship—"

"Can you just think about us before you do something like that again?"

Jim paused, and Bones looked so earnestly at him that he wasn't really sure how to answer him.

"I was." He hedged.

"No. I mean, think about us afterwards. Think about _me, _goddamnit. About the fact that I tend every single cut and bruise I see and always hate myself for it."

Silence reigned supreme between them for a long, full moment as both parties let this request sink in and take hold.

"Yeah, Bones." Jim squeezed his friend's hand back, and managed to put a little strength into it this time. "I will."

The doctor sighed, grinning just a little and Jim realized he hadn't seen him smile in days. And that was his fault.

"I'm so sorry, Leonard." He breathed, trying not to let humor cloud his sincerity. "I'm such a selfish idiot sometimes."

Bones' smile widened. "Yeah, that's true."

Jim watched Bones as he turned to pick up his tricorder—a duty Jim was surprised he had neglected the instant Jim awoke—even if it had been to make a rare, heartfelt apology.

"Spock knows." He found himself saying, hating the desperate, empty sound of his voice.

Bones glanced down at him, pausing. "He knows…?"

"Everything." Jim swallowed, rubbing his eyes hard. "And I didn't tell him. He just… knows."

"I figured something happened between you two but… how?" Bones sank back down into his chair, tricorder momentarily forgotten once again. This had to be a record.

"I guess I was… broadcasting, or something. Over the last few days."

Bones was silent, his eyes thoughtful. "Is this a bad thing?"

Jim had to hold himself back from biting Bones' head off. "Of course it's a bad thing." He ground out through clenched teeth. "How can you even ask that?"

"Because so far, he hasn't done anything to betray you. He hasn't told anyone. Hell, he's being freakishly _nice_ to you."

Damn, but Bones was being infuriatingly calm and reasonable about this.

"So he pities me. That's a great alternative." Jim laughed hollowly. "That's just great."

"Oh, shut up, whiner. He doesn't pity you. Believe it or not, I think he's just trying to be your friend."

Bones instantly looked a little apologetic for his curt tone, but all things considered it wasn't the meanest thing Jim expected Bones to say to him.

"Yeah. And I always start a friendship by collecting emotional blackmail."

"I don't think that's what he was trying to do. If I know you—and I do—your emotions are kind of all over in stressful situations. If I can see them outwardly, it makes sense that someone like Spock, a touch-telepath, would be able to feel or see them after some kind of contact."

Bones successfully ignored the glare Jim was throwing his way.

"For some reason, I thought you were going to be on my side, here." Jim grumbled as Bones began carefully scanning his side.

"I am on your side." Bones matched his tone. "I just think this isn't the complete disaster you're making it out to be. You've said yourself that you want to get over this shit. This could be a good start."

"I'd rather it be on my own terms."

"We don't always get to choose those things Jim." Bones was being unusually patient with Jim's griping. "You don't really have a choice other than to go with it." He paused to look down at Jim. "You can't really bury the past, Jim. Best you can do is deal with it in your own way."

"I know." Jim sighed heavily, trying his hardest not to wince as Bones began carefully removing the bandages from his side. "I know, I really do. I just can't let it go that easily."

Bones paused, and Jim tried not to notice, tried not to _see_ that look in his eyes. It wasn't something he needed right now. He didn't need to be reminded that he'd willingly told Bones more than Spock had ever unwillingly learned, and that all of that dangerous knowledge was still there, carried next to the doctor's heart like a secret weapon.

"Jim?" McCoy pulled the captain back from his mental brink with a word.

"m'okay." Jim grinned. "I'll live."

"Yeah." Bones chuckled. "I don't think the whole damn fleet could kill you if they tried." He grimaced at the open wound in Jim's side; Jim chose not to look too closely.

"You should talk to him about it." He surprised Jim by saying. "Clear the air. Right now he acts like he's walking on glass around you."

"Thanks Mom." Jim scoffed. "What's with the relationship advice all of a sudden?"

"Cut the bullshit." Bones didn't sound angry this time. "I'm just saying, you'd both be a little better off if you hit this thing on the head instead of dancing around it like a couple of pansies."

Jim chewed on that for a while, mostly to entertain the image of Spock dressed like a flower dancing around the ship. That was something he'd pay good money to see.

"When'd you get to be so smart, Bones?" He sighed at length, glancing up at his friend.

"Eh." Bones shrugged, snapping a glove. "I started hanging out with this pretty smart kid back at Academy. Had to step up my game."

Jim managed a real laugh. "I'd have to say you're doing a decent job of it."

"Well now that I have your stamp of approval, I can sleep at night."

Jim grinned widely, immeasurably relieved to have his gruff, sarcastic version of Bones back at his side. He'd been seriously considering the possibility that this wouldn't happen—but then again, he'd always managed to see any spat or argument with anyone he'd ever been close to as the end of the world.

He hissed in surprise and pain as a white-hot jolt of fire shot up his side, and for the first time he believed Spock telling him he'd been shot.

"Sorry." Bones' eyes darted over to him apologetically.

"I'd rather it be you hurting me than them any day of the week." Jim tried to joke, but he knew it'd fallen flat when he saw the guilty look on the doctor's face make a brief reappearance. "Bones." He said in his most commanding voice. He waited until the doctor look up at him. "This time, it seriously wasn't your fault. I was a moron."

Bones looked appraisingly at him. "Well I guess this whole fiasco wasn't a total loss if it managed to knock some sense into you after all these years."

"I guess not." Jim laughed. He watched the doctor work for a moment longer, and then decided to press his luck.

"So. When can I get out of here?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Happy birthday, a day early! And this one's extra long, to make up for the last chapter being extra-short. I don't think many of you actually noticed that, but still. Lots of talking here, lots of resolving things. And the next chapter will be the final one, and will finally wrap everything up! Aren't you glad? Of course you are.

THANK YOU reviewers! You are SO amazing, and you have this way of injecting goodness into my less-than-stellar days that has become something of a necessary fix. I neeeed you. :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter! There is still one more to come.

**Romanse**: Thank you so much. And yes, I will be making a much greater effort to keep Uhura and Chekov's duties separate and distinct. :)

**Squigglytext**: Aw, I feel honored! But why were you out getting soaked in the rain? Don't worry, if you catch a cold, I will write many stories to entertain you during your convalescence. :)

**Laynee**: I can never hear it too many times. X) Hope this update was fast enough for you!

**ColtDancer**: Bahaha, your review made me laugh out loud. SO sorry to leave you hanging again. Hopefully this chapter will appease you: both in speed, length, and lack of a cliffhanger. :)

**SublimeRubbish**: I know what you mean! It's so hard to find a friendship story that deals with just that: two men struggling to be friends despite their propensity for luckless relationships. I hope this story meets all your expectations. :)

**ShamelessSpocker**: Yay! It means so much to hear you enjoy it so much. Thank you!

**GingeRed**: Hurray, you're back! I'm so glad you're still reading and enjoying it, and I do hope it meets all your expectations. Fear not, there is more to come!

**TipsyTippyToes**: Haha, that's ok, I grin like made when I get your reviews, so people can think we're both crazy! It's so worth it. :) I'm glad you're sticking around, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter (and the next story!)


	12. Keep Your Friends Close

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Chapter Twelve: Keep Your Friends Close

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One week to the day after settling things (if you could call it that) with his best friend, newest enemy-turned-friend, and crew, not to mention a half dozen escaped convicts, a frazzled prison planet that seemed confused on the meaning of the term "secure", and a board of dubious Starfleet officials, Jim was _finally_ free of medical bay.

After half-an-hour of dodging final medical tests and promising Bones that yes, he was really feeling fine, and no, he wasn't going to be playing full-contact rugby with Sulu any time in the near future, he made it into the familiar darkness of his own quarters. Sadly, this room had nothing on the familiar darkness of his mind. Stripping down out of the same now sterile-smelling uniform he'd been forced to wear for his entire stay in medical, he donned a pair of sweats and a black shirt.

He made it to the gym unhindered, mostly by skulking around corners and making quick dashes across exposed hallways. As much as he loved his overly-concerned crew, he _really_ didn't need to hear another cadet ask him if he was supposed to be up and about and if he was going to be alright.

The gym was empty. Maybe there _was_ a god.

He made a beeline for the row of heavy bags on the far side of the gym, snatching up a pair of gloves from the equipment deck as he went.

Although he had technically been given a clean bill of health, Bones had prescribed three days of solid rest, coming off paranoid as usual. On the upside, the ship was running smoothly and it was the middle of Delta shift, so Jim knew there was little chance of someone hunting him down to perform some Captainly duty. Or to beat him over the head with over-complicated medical jargon and send him back to bed.

If he had to spend another minute in a bed of any kind, someone was going to get hurt.

Strapping on his gloves, he gave his bag a few experimental whacks, relishing the sound of leather on leather—or at least, that's how he could remember it from his old-fashioned gym back in Riverside. This sound was closer to synthetically-reinforced poly-fiber on synthetically reinforced poly-fiber. Not quite as romantic of a sound, but it would have to do.

Wishing he had some music—particularly something along the lines of the extremely outdated classic rock his old gym used to blare, he hunched his shoulders in and started laying into the bag. He was feeling uncharacteristically nostalgic and yearned for the feel, the sound, the scent of something—anything—familiar. Everything here was clean and sterile and almost featureless.

_Blam._ The gym echoed in the stillness as his strong right hook sent the bag spinning on its resin-coated chain. The sound was the laughter of an old friend, and did more to soothe Jim's fraying nerves than a week of McCoy's sedatives had been able to.

Jim kept going, trying to put a little more weight into every punch. He let his mind drift into fuzzy, adrenaline-induced bliss, trying to focus on nothing in particular. He felt sweat trickling down his back, running down his forehead and stinging in his eyes. Unwilling to stop, he screwed his eyes shut and kept going.

When his abused tendons began screaming at him in pain and his breathing got to the point where it really couldn't keep up with him, he gave himself a moment's break. So maybe he wasn't reallycompletely back up to par. Letting his eyes drift shut, controlling his breathing, Jim counted out the next sixty seconds in his head, giving his burning muscles and that oh-so-annoying twinge in his side a moment's rest. He couldn't let the adrenaline rush completely fade out; he wasn't nearly finished. Sure he might need a few weeks to convince his body of what his mind already knew: that he was back in peak physical condition, but that was all technicality.

Sighing heavily, he sent two jabs into the bag, trying to see dark, cracked leather instead of the black and yellow diagram Starfleet regulation bags so helpfully supplied. Particularly for those crew members who apparently needed help to ascertain the relative position of a human skull.

"May I join you, Captain?"

Still wheezing a little, Jim turned to see Spock standing across the gym, and _damn_ if that pointy-eared bastard didn't manage to pop up just about everywhere.

"Aren't you supposed to be running my ship, commander?" Jim sighed.

Spock was halfway towards him, his blue shirt neatly folded over one arm.

"My shift ended approximately twelve minutes prior. Ensign Chekov has the conn, at present."

Satisfied with that answer, Jim followed the Vulcan over to the large sparring mat in the center of the gym where the security officers regularly drilled in hand-to-hand and grappling techniques. He taught them himself sometimes when the mood struck him.

Scoffing a little at Spock's regulation shirt and pants, Jim peeled off his gloves and his now sweat-soaked t-shirt and tossed it across the gym. He tried not to glean too much satisfaction from the sight of Spock's disapproving eyebrow.

"Well, have at it." He grinned at the Vulcan, lowering his weight into a back stance and lifting his fists to chin level. "I'm in the mood to hand out a beat-down."

As it turned out, Jim didn't have much of a beat-down to hand out. He'd known this of course, but damn if it didn't feel just glorious to lunge and punch and taste blood in his mouth because he was sparring with a friend, not getting his ass kicked by strangers while strapped to a chair. He always found it amazing how much of a difference that made.

Spock, as always, fought with all the grace of a dancer. No wasted movement: perfect control, perfect form. Carefully monitored breathing patterns.

Jim, for his part, was already exhausted, and his body was in such a state that it soon began to completely ignore his mental resolve. He stumbled, he made mistakes. He was infuriated to realize that Spock never took advantage of these openings.

"Don't you dare hold back on me." He snarled at his first officer, lunging wildly.

"Is that an order, Captain?" Spock dodged easily, his voice as cool and calm as ever, but Jim saw the sweat stains dampening his shirt. The Vulcan wasn't quite as impervious as he would have the world think.

"Does it have to be?" Jim feinted, twisting around his opponent and following with a spinning back kick.

Spock threw his kick aside with one hand, almost casually. Jim felt himself slipping.

But he was here, in the ring, with _Spock,_ who _knew_—who had delved into his mind and ripped years of protective barriers away from Jim's most painful memories. From the things his own mother didn't know; the things he would never tell her or any other living creature if he could help it. Because _goddamn_ it he wasn't a basket case, he didn't need protection, and he sure as hell wasn't weak or helpless or incompetent. And he'd spent too long proving it to the world and to himself to let this emotionless alien that he barely knew take that all away from him

It was hard to believe that such an inhuman sound come from his own throat, but it did and Jim charged. At the moment he wasn't thinking about tact or strategy or technique. He was only wondering if this bastard knew how much pain he'd caused Jim and how the hell could he prance in here and claim to be his _friend_ after all of that?

Another spinning back-kick—one of Jim's favorites—and suddenly he wasn't meeting air or forearm, but striking square across his first officer's jaw. Back on both feet, Jim froze, breathing hard in labored gasps as he stared at Spock.

"What the hell?" He demanded, voice rough.

Spock touched the corner of his split lip, looking down calmly at the dot of green blood that came away on his fingertips.

"I detected your emotional need to inflict pain on me." Spock answered, sounding a hell of a lot like there had been no pain inflicted. "I thought it might be healthy for you to succeed."

"So you let me kick you in the chin?" Jim glared. "I could have broken your neck!"

"That was an unlikely result given your state of exhaustion and it's impact on the force generated by your blows. I was not likely to incur permanent damage."

Jim threw up his hands in exasperation, dropping down onto the padded floor. "Well I'm glad you thought that one out." He fell back flat onto the mat, breathing out heavily as the cold seeped into his bare skin. Now that his sweat was drying he felt a chill creeping on, but if a phaser blast to the gut hadn't managed to off him he doubted the temperature on his own ship was going to prove lethal any time soon.

Spock surprised him—and wasn't he just full of surprises lately?—by sinking down beside him. Granted, he managed to do it in a far more graceful manner, adopting a stiff-backed, cross-legged meditative pose, but still. It was the thought that counted.

Jim pressed a hand to his side, flinching a little at the sharp tug of healing muscles so keenly aggravated by his strenuous workout. He didn't think he'd done them any real damage, but either way it was probably best if Bones didn't find out about this. Spock glanced pointedly at Jim when he caught the gesture, but was wise enough not to say anything. It wasn't as if he was bleeding out at the moment.

There was a long, not-completely-comfortable silence between them, spreading in the spaces between Jim's labored breaths. He had nothing to say, and wasn't willing to play a guessing game to figure out Spock's motives for being there. He'd given that tactic up long ago.

As it turned out, he wasn't forced to wait very long.

"I feel that I may have damaged our friendship, James."

Jim instantly regretted ever giving the Vulcan permission to call him that. It made him feel like he was talking to an old man.

"I thought we agreed that we didn't need to talk about this." Jim sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He had the illogical wish that a black hole would open up n the middle of space and suck them all into limbo—a limbo where they couldn't have this conversation.

"You made that request while under medical care, and I agreed that it was an inappropriate time."

"Okay. I'm making it again."

"I cannot concede, this time." Spock was staring at him intently—Jim could _feel _his eyes on him, boring into his skull.

"Of course not." Jim mumbled, feeling extremely tired.

"I wish to extend my apologies." Spock went on, staring now at a spot on the wall across the gym. "I had not anticipated that revealing the knowledge I inadvertently gleaned from your mind would lead you to resent me so deeply. This was not my intention and I have since been seeking a method by which I may mend the rift between us."

"There's no rift." Jim cut in, feeling relieved that all of his spent energy in a physical fight had left none remaining for this one. He paused, drawing a deep breath for his confession. "There's me being a nutcase because I spent fifteen years hiding things and you found most of them out in the space of fifteen seconds." He sat up with some effort to meet Spock's surprised expression. "I didn't want you to find out about… any of that." He balked a little at his own words. "But you did. And I can't change that. So I guess I'm just going to have to trust you."

Spock's surprised expression evolved into near-shock.

"I will admit, I was not expecting such a response." He spoke slowly. "It seems that you will never cease to amaze me, James Kirk."

Jim was suddenly reminded of a much older, wiser version of Spock; a Spock who had insisted they would someday develop a defining friendship. Maybe this was it: they were toeing the line. Someday, it might just be possible for that friendship to emerge.

He must have been looking at the Vulcan oddly, because Spock frowned at him.

"Captain?"

"Yeah. Just thinking." Jim sighed down at his feet, pulling his legs into an Indian-style position to mimic his companion. He looked up at his first officer. "I'm the one who owes you an apology, Spock. I've been treating you poorly over the past few weeks."

"Given your physical and mental condition at the time, I am sure that your reactions were expected."

"Expected and acceptable are two different things." Jim nodded. "I expect better of myself. I should be able to perform at peak levels, regardless of my physical condition. I should be able to maintain a professional attitude towards my officers and my crew." He smiled slightly. "And especially towards my friends."

Spock looked thoughtful. "May I assume that you have accepted my apology then, Captain?"

"Yes." Jim grinned. "If you accept mine."

"I deem it unnecessary, but I extend my forgiveness quite readily." Spock seemed pleased. "I find your intentions admirable and I am relieved that we were able to repair our misunderstandings so easily."

"Me too. I guess one of us had to stop being so stubborn." Jim chuckled as he stood a bit stiffly. He extended a hand down to his First Officer. "What do you say we raid the mess? I'm starving."

Spock took his hand, but did not release it as he stood. "Jim."

"Yeah, this is a little weird." Jim tugged on his hand just enough to get his message across. The Vulcan did not release him.

"I would like to make you aware that your secrets are safe with me." Spock was staring at him too intensely for comfort. "You need not fear that they will be revealed to another living creature. A Vulcan's word is his oath."

"Spock." Jim finally managed to free his hand. "I know." He clasped his first officer on the shoulder. "I told you I was going to trust you, didn't I?"

Spock smiled, a near-human expression that lit up his eyes. "Indeed you did, Captain."

"Good." Jim headed for the door. "So how about that food?"

Smiling, Spock followed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Jim was bone-tired. As seemed to be the pattern, lately. His stomach was full, his room was dark, and he was finally in a place that didn't smell like antiseptic and unnamable medications.

And yet, he could not sleep. Instead he sat in the same spot and in the same position he had collapsed into an hour ago, slumped against the port window above his bed, face pressed against the cool glass. It wasn't necessarily the most comfortable way to sit, but he was simply too tired to put all that effort into unfolding his limbs or propping up a pillow.

Too. Much. Effort.

He sighed against the thick glass, his breath making tiny patches of fog on the window as he watched the stars zip by. As a kid, he'd spent entire nights lying on his roof, staring up at the constellations whose intricacies and patterns and behaviors he had long ago memorized. He knew each by name, each color and star and planet by heart. He'd even entertained the childish delusion for some time that his father was still up there somewhere. He'd had no logical reason for this belief—it wasn't even anything his mom had ever taught him—just a rumor he'd caught in passing from a kid at school once. The boy had insisted that death was a myth, and those lost to their families and loved ones simply wandered the stars, searching for a reason to come back. The child in question had also been Bajoran, which probably accounted for most of his strange theories and beliefs.

Jim had been a smart kid. He'd had no excuse for believing something as far-fetched as that. And yet, the part of him that had never really grown up desperately wanted to. And so, for too long, he had searched the stars above for answers that never came.

Frank never found him up on the roof. No matter how long he screamed and ranted and cursed, he could never figure out where Jim went. He was a scrawny kid and he could be quiet when he needed to be, and pressed flat against a dark roof on a dark night he could turn practically invisible. Frank never found him there, and somehow reality never did either.

"You're not really there." Jim reminded the ghost of his father's face in the passing constellations. He'd learned this truth long ago, after years of talking to an empty sky. He'd worshipped that sky, learned to hate it, and finally returned to it. Ironic, in a way.

"Not there." He mumbled again against the glass. His eyelids were heavy and he still couldn't summon up the energy to move his limbs. He was caught in memories of the past, but they weren't all bad ones this time: and he didn't really want to give that up just yet.

He remembered blue skies and open fields, his childhood escapes. Motorcycles, fast cars, mountain climbing and cliff diving. Anything to bring some feeling into the numbness. He remembered his mother when he'd been very young: she'd treated him like he'd treated the stars. Worshipped him for what she'd lost for a few years, and then learned to hate him for the same thing. She'd yet to return, however. He doubted that she ever would. Running was a hard pattern to break.

None of those things mattered here, on this giant structure of flying metal that had somehow become more to him in eight short months than an Iowa farm had managed to be in twenty years. It was everything that the old farm had never been: family and home and heart and soul. His very heartbeat.

Sluggish fingers pressed against the cool metal, trailing across the ridges and planes of an almost featureless, regulation wall, across the featureless, regulation window. He had this vessel memorized, and never missed a chance to recite. He'd mentioned it to Sulu once; tried to explain how much personality this ship had in his eyes. How complete it made him. He'd only managed to rack up one more vote for the "tha Cap'n is crazy" theory.

He loved this ship. And he didn't know what he would have done if he had lost her.

A door breezed open somewhere behind him, but he still couldn't find the energy to turn around. He felt quite comfortable where he was, and his silent visitor could figure that out all by themselves.

Said visitor was neither silent nor apparently very perceptive, and Bones grumbled to himself as he pulled Jim down onto the bed and stuffed him beneath the covers.

"Stars, Bones." Jim mumbled groggily. He felt a little sad he'd had to leave his window, but the warm blankets weren't really all that bad either.

"Yeah. Real pretty." Bones sounded gentler than usual as he pulled Jim's boots off and set them beside the bed, exactly where they belonged. He'd grown accustomed to Jim's obsessive-compulsive need for order long ago.

Jim's eyes were still glued to the port window, tracing the lines of planets and stars.

Bones' firm hand on his chin pulled his gaze back to his friend. "You." He leaned over Jim, peering into his face suspiciously. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

Jim didn't really have an answer that, so he just stared at the doctor for a few moments, his mind wandering.

McCoy sighed heavily. "Move over." He grumbled, climbing up to sit by Jim's shoulder.

Jim rolled onto his side towards the window, sighing in contentment as he felt McCoy's leg press against his back. The Doctor's rough hand came to rest in his tousled hair, stroking absently. It was a nervous habit the medical officer had picked up long ago, having spent too many hours sitting at his friend's bedside, waiting to find out if he would wake up or not. The gesture was equally comforting to Jim, though he tried his best not to let Bones see it.

The truth was that both of them needed each other a lot more than they were willing to admit.

"You're such an infant. I've got to hold your hand to get you to do anything, don't I?" The complaint came out sounding almost affectionate, and Jim smiled as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

"Yeah." He agreed sleepily. "That sounds 'bout right."

Bones sighed. "Glad you made it home this time, kid." His hand stilled for a moment.

Jim smiled as his eyes slid shut against his will. Feeling completely content for the first time in weeks, he drifted to sleep with the stars in his eyes and his best friend at his back.

He was home.

-0-0-0-0-0-

_FINIS_

-0-0-0-0-0-

Wow. Well that was an adventure.

I've actually had this chapter done since Monday: I was going to wait a whole week to post it, but I just CAN'T! I'm too anxious to hear what you think of the last part, hahaha.

Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this entire story! It was so much fun to write, and I'm actually really shocked I managed to finish. You must have really inspired me. :)

I already have another story in the works: in fact, the first three chapters are already complete! What can I say; I've been inspired. I guess that means you'll be getting steady updates for a while. :)

Reviews:

**ILoveSupernatural**: Let me guess; you love Supernatural? Haha, me too! I only just started watching, but I finally decided that I am more of a Dean than Sam fan. Though they are both pretty delicious. ;) Thank you so much for your wonderful long review! You made me smile with glee. I do most of my writing and reading at work too, so I completely understand! Haha. I hope you enjoy the final installment, and stick around for the next story which I will be posting next week. :)

**frozenlaughter**: Haha, yes that was actually a detail I deliberated over for some time, believe it or not. I'm a little overly-paranoid about accidentally ripping off someone else's story, so in the end I had Jim call Bones 'Leonard' to be serious, not mad. I knew that would throw someone for a loop. :P I am glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope this final chapter lived up to your expectations!

**Elfsong**: I know right? Bones needs love too! I am so glad you're enjoying, you'll have to let me know what you thought of the final chapter!

**ackeberylnn**: Ahhh, that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the last chapter as well as the next story!

**laynee**: Join the Hurt!Jim addicts club! We will soon be able to take over the world. ;) So glad you're enjoying the story, and I can't wait to hear from you on story numero dos!

**val313**: You bought me! How can I say no to that? I guess I'll just have to give you this last chapter, and a whole new story posting Monday or Tuesday! ;)

**SquigglyText**: Aw, thankies! :) You made my day with your review! Hahaha. Hope this final chapter is up to par—and the next story, too!

**TipsyTippyToes**: Yay, so happy you liked it! Thank you, I've been trying my best to bring a good balance of action and fluff to the tale. Not quite as easy as it sounds. :P I hope you enjoy this final chapter, and possibly the next story? It will be up soon. ;)

**Loves Jack, dustykingdom, Thelittlemonster17, bowlfullofcherries, Snowy midnight 942, Sparkiebunny, Thomson, irezel**: Thank you so much! I hope this final chapter did you proud!

.

Keep a look out for "**Perfect Strangers**", the next fic and the predecessor to this one. It should be posting early next week. I look forward to seeing you all there!

Love and Star Trek,

_DeepBlueSomewhere_


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